Bullets with Butterfly Wings
by Inuyoukai-san
Summary: AU London 1811, Matthew Williams comes to London, he is reunited with his childhood friend, meets an eccentric frenchman and his cousin from the states comes to stalk him. But everything starts with the Russian. RusCan, Franada, UkCan, AmeCan, etc...
1. Act 1: Matthew Williams

Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, or The song title Bullets with butterfly wings by Smashing Pumpkins. YAY for revisions! *shot*

Act One

Matthew Williams

Scene .i

_1811, London, England_

Matthew was awed by London. He watched as the people rushed by him. He had just gotten away from his family's estate and it was the first time since he got off the boats from Canada less than three days ago.

Thinking about it, his Montréal paled in comparison to London, the aura of the city itself was different. Matthew could see the effects of the industrial revolution on the city. Montreal was a small town compared to London. Despite being used to traveling (he often visited his extended family the Jones, in New-York and this wasn't his first visit to Great British Isle) he couldn't help but want to wander around London. Being older now, he could do so on his own and stay out later than he ever had before.

Matthew Williams would surprise people when asked for his age. Him being eighteen years old he still had his soft, boyish features from childhood. His gold coloured hair framed his face, the hair unusually clean and attractive enough so to make his mother cry of happiness and his female peers rage with jealousy.

Matthew's family were influential Canadian diplomats for the Common Wealth. Mr. Williams worked for the Canadian Dominion; while Mrs. Williams upheld respectful English manners (as if to spite them because of her French origins). Demonstrating that even people from the colonies could be just as respectful the English. This was of some importance as the English were still iffy since the Canadian's southern neighbours declared independence just a few years ago.

Matthew sighed at the thought of the revolution. His father had made him study it thoroughly; explaining everything and every loophole within the so-called declaration of freedom (the one Al kept making allusions towards in the regular letters they've been exchanging more out of duty rather than friendship). Alfred Jones was... an interesting character. Lately he doesn't refer to Matthew by name; deciding that "tory" was a lot more appropriate for his Canadian relative.

The Canadian clicked his tongue._ What an idiot. Those damn Yankees were just being selfish. They were the ones who betrayed mother England..._

Matthew kicked a stray pebble. The city, in all honesty, stank. He had forgotten about the smell since his last visit to England, but even then they were staying out in Canterbury which was more country than city. The umbrella leaned on his shoulder, covering the Canadian's head from something a lot more terrifying than English rain. Matthew was confused when his mother gave him a long coat as well as an umbrella and hat.

"It won't rain tonight will it?"

"_Seulement si on est chanceux_! No, sadly, I don't think. But be sure to avoid walls and don't look up, _d'accord Mathieu_?"

The unlucky soul walking in front of him had shown him why, Matthew recoiled as the sickening substance fell on the man's shoulder (the man –surprising Matthew– was hardly phased).

_Merci Maman_, Matthew thought. _T__he umbrella will be of great use to me in this city. _

Despite London awe worthiness, Matthew appreciated the wide terrain of his homeland that allowed for out-houses, that were kept away from main attractions and allowed his city to be cleaner than this city. The industrialized city scarred and impressed the Canadian at the same time. He still couldn't help but feel slightly homesick. The travel time to London already separated Matthew from his home for a few weeks.

Nearly bumping into someone, he apologized but they continued on with their business. He sighed a bit, his stomach growled at him. Matthew decided there was time for drink and food. He watched as his shadow moved past behind him as he walked under a lamplight.

Scene .ii

_Miria__'__s Cafe_

He patted his pocket, inside was the spending money his father had insisted Matthew take with him. A nice looking cafe caught his eye. Wondering how the food would compare to home, he stepped inside.

The first thing he did was take a deep breath. The scent the cafe gave was miraculous compared to outside. A sweet aroma, it smelt like roses –and there it was, vases filled with the flower decorated the tables.

This immediately placed him into a better mood. A smile on his lips, he waited since the lady in charge told him to wait where he was. The blond woman shared a small smile with him when she walked up to him, her dress simple for serving but still elegant, showed that she had some class.

She walked him to an occupied table. "I'm sorry sirs; we are rather filled up today." She paused, allowing the two gentlemen to exchange glances. "I hope this doesn't bother either of you two dearies?"

The woman was older than Matthew, about 10 years or so. She meant dearies when she looked at him, not so much to the man already sitting. But the seated man smiled anyway.

"I do not mind. I enjoy the company."

Matthew noted the man's accent, but nodded in agreement.

"Yes I do not mind. Please, you must be busy, don't worry. I'm not in a rush."

With Matthew's request the three of them realized the irony of seating two foreigners together (the woman was taken aback by the Canadian's manners).

"Thank you dear; I'll be by in a bit to take your order. What would you like to drink for now?"

"Some ale should be fine." _Mama told me I would look foolish if I ordered water in London, and I__'__m not up for tea. _(Matthew held back a chuckle. In the back of his head he could hear his childhood friend demand what the Canadian meant that he wasn't "up for tea"?)

The woman winked at him. "Good choice, I'll be back in a few moments," she turned to the other man, "I'm sorry for the wait sir. The vodka is a hard thing to reach, and the staff 'are busy."

"That's fine." He smiled at her. She got chills down her spine and made her to the back, calling a young busboy for aide.

Matthew stood there staring at the woman's hassling form, until the seated man spoke.

"Well sit. It is your table as well, da?"

The Canadian nodded and sat himself down opposite to the man (Matthew blushed slightly embarrassed. It was a bad habit of his to zone out as he just did). The table, Matthew realized, was big enough only for two, so the woman wouldn't be bringing anyone else. Matthew felt the man's eyes on him as he scanned the room. It was strange, Matthew thought, he felt that he would be devoured by the man's stare.

"May I inquire where you're from? I believe you have a different accent from these." He raised his arm to indicate the people in the cafe.

Matthew was rather reserved as a person. He didn't enjoy looking like a fool and had always thought himself as rather clever, but still the man's comment managed to irk his usually calm demeanour.

"I believe that you have an accent, as well." He stared at the man, "And you really shouldn't refer to people as "these" in the English language. It sounds rather... degrading."

The man laughed.

"Oh. I know."

Matthew found himself trying to hold back a glare. It was not often he found himself feeling angry.

The foreigner leaned on the table, the candlelight lite up his features. A strong face with a prominent nose, a strong jaw, good lips, and blond hair framed his head in a short cut. But it was the man's purple's eyes that caused Matthew to lean back into his chair, trying to regain his personal space.

"My name is Ivan Braginski. I am merchant from Russia."

Matthew felt belittled, now he was forced to say that he didn't have an occupation...

"My name is Williams. My father is a representative for the common wealth from Canada."

"I know, Matthew."

Matthew felt his eyes bulge out of his face. Shock was evident. A man he swore he had never met in life, (he never even met a Russian before) knew his name! For a split second it look like the Russian had let his tongue slip but the smile replaced it quickly.

"I am well acquainted with the politicians here in London. I saw you when you came down from the harbour. I was part of the...welcoming committee, as you say?"

Matthew thought back to three days ago. The sun was bright on the day they reached. They were lucky in their trip. The month went by quickly and the winds were fair. A few friends of Mr. Williams and their wives were there to welcome them. Arthur Kirkland, Matthew's childhood friend was there and the Canadian's attention had been on the Englishman for the rest of the day.

Even so, Matthew reasoned, there was no way he would have missed the Russian. The Canadian was rather observant, and he doubted anyone in their right mind would have missed this man. But that left just one option: the Russian was lying.

Ivan's smile seemed to widen, when Matthew came to this realization.

"...I didn't see you."

"I know."

Matthew glared at the man sitting across him. Now he was sure the Russian was playing him for a fool. But before the Canadian could press forward his glass of ale was placed down in front of him.

The woman smiled apologetically at the young man. Matthew inwardly cursed the woman. He couldn't help but know that she knew there was something off about this man. And she sat the poor unsuspecting Canadian at this table? _Maudit de-mmmm..._ Matthew let out a sigh and smiled at the woman anyways.

"Here you go dearies! I knew we had some vodka lying about, just needed to find it."

She spoke to the Russian, a small smile tugging at her lips. He smiled up at her.

"Thank you for your hard work."

He then smiled into the drink. Matthew only heard of the infamous vodka. Nobody he knew drank it. His father once told him, _there's drinking for the sake of drinking __–__then there is vodka. There is no stronger drink. Personally I don't see the point to drinking it. __–__Heavy and not very good._

The Russian took a long swing of his drink, while the Canadian took only a sip of the ale. It was good. The warmth the drink gave was welcomed. Matthew found himself taking another one, smiling into the drink as well, feeling his mood lift the slightest—

"Matthew what do you plan your future to be?"

—and the mood fell again. Matthew wondered when they had become familiar enough with each other to use first names.

"Well _Mr. Braginski_. I will probably follow my father's footsteps."

Ivan let out a low deep laugh.

"You, a politician? With that face?" His laughter continued.

Matthew's eyes narrowed. The Canadian knew that his face wasn't very suited and that he didn't look like the type to be a politician. _Mais Seigneur_! It wasn't a total stranger who would tell him that!

"For your information, I am doing very well in my studies. My father has taught me everything he knows and holds me in high regards. I attend many political events, and with great confidence I say that I will succeed in the field."

The smile gone so quickly that Matthew wondered if it was ever there to begin with. Matthew realized that he had been leaning towards the Russian and that his voice was steadily getting louder during his little rant. His face flushed from letting his anger get to him. Leaning back into his seat he took a deep gulp of his ale and shakily looked at the Russian.

"...Well it is your life, and I am a stranger, da? I shouldn't butt into your business."

Matthew nodded slightly. He watched quietly as Ivan took another swing of the vodka. He was getting annoyed. He had come into a cafe to relax, but instead knots began to form in his back and neck. He held back a sigh; this character was an enigma. An annoying enigma Matthew decided resolutely. But if the stranger wanted a conversation Matthew wasn't rude enough to dismiss it.

"What brings you to London?"

Ivan raised his eyebrow. Matthew's cheeks darkened.

"Well...It's just that, a merchant from Russia. You could have easily gotten anything you wanted from England in Amsterdam, or Le Havre –don't the Russians feel more at ease in French territory?"

"I'm a merchant, Matvey. I would rather get my goods by going directly to the source. Besides it's a lot cheaper to come myself, avoid any shipping taxes."

"The bordering tax, for travelling and the cost to get across the sleeve would have even the cost in the end. If anything it's a greater lost on what you've spent on this trip." Matthew replied quickly, trying to ignore his new nickname. Matvey, was that a Russian version of 'Matthew'?

The vodka bottle was placed down on the table. The Russian leaned forward towards the Canadian, a frightening smirk plastered on his face.

"You're rather clever, da. Aren't you, Matvey? I would almost say you sound a lot older than you look. But it's "_la manche_" in French and not "the sleeve" in English. I believe they call it The Channel."

He flinched again at the nickname; Matthew nodded, not happy at all with how the tables have turned. The Canadian found that his bravado had begun to waver under the intimidating stare. But the Canadian continued on anyway.

"A Russian merchant in London; it just seems rather far-fetched. If you were a Russian diplomat, this tale would have been more believable. At least then I would understand why you would be here…" A pause and then he added quickly. "In London."

The smirk softened into a smile, but the dangerous glint never left Ivan's eyes. The Canadian wondered if he was stupid. Seriously, was he trying to pick a fight with this man? The Russian could probably kill him -the stupid kid! Now nearly all of his bravado was gone, Matthew's breathing hitched, for the strangest reason, the Canadian actually felt _in danger_.

"This is London Matvey." The Russian stood up and pulled out change from his pocket. He placed it on the table. Instead of lifting his hand up, he leaned onto it, bringing his face closer to Matthew's.

"Far-fetched things happen."

Time seemed to have stopped at that moment. The different shades of violet gazed at each other. Only until Matthew actually thought maybe he should just look away did the Russian's voice stop him.

"Tell me Matvey. Do you believe in monsters?"

Maybe it was the way Ivan Braginski had asked the question, or maybe Matthew was just strange, but the Canadian answered without any hesitation.

"I don't care much for make believe monsters. What I fear the most is the monster within man."

_As well as within myself…_He refrained from adding.

Ivan smiled; his hand went to the ribbon tied around Matthew's neck. He pulled on it, loosening the red string. Matthew held his breath, his eyes wide as the Russian's face inched closer. The Canadian jumped in his skin when the man licked his lips inches away from Matthew's face.

"Pray we don't meet again."

And with that Ivan Braginski walked away; leaving Matthew flustered in his seat, trying to catch his breath. The Canadian allowed his head to fall onto the table, staying like that for a few minutes until he was annoyed. He took a huge swing of his ale. Finishing it with a satisfied sound, he snapped his head towards the window. Someone was watching him.

Matthew's intuition was right, for there was Ivan Braginski smiling at Matthew from across the street. The Russian tilted his hat in curtsey, succeeding in making Matthew blush once again that evening and then proceeded to walked down the street. The young man sitting alone in the café couldn't help but stare at the retreating form until Ivan had completely disappeared into the darkness of the night.

The boy leaned back into his chair, falling in his seat. He let out a deep sigh. The gold of the coins caught his eye in the candlelight. There was more than enough to pay for the vodka, his ale, and probably a round for the house. That more than anything that had happened in this strange evening annoyed Matthew the most.

_What was this? _He demanded to no one._ A failed attempt at a date?_

He clenched his teeth, and called out in the cafe.

"I want some gin and I'm treating everyone in the house tonight!" Everyone in the café jumped simultaneously at the noise, it was a café after all not a bar, but they burst out in cheer anyways.

The woman from earlier came up to him with a confused look on her face. Worried about what would happen if this boy was just pulling everyone's leg. But it was then that she saw the gold.

Her eyes widen and she nodded, then the place burst into cheers again, they surrounded Matthew like moths to a rich flame. Laughter and song erupted; Matthew started to sing songs from back home, the bar laughed and sang along, mumbling and whistling. The café-turned-bar, but thankfully the woman didn't mind. Things like this could happen in London.

"Tell Dodger to bring in some of his cheap booze, I have all of his customers." The woman told her busboy, he nodded ("Yes Miss. Miria!") and ran off down the street. Miria looked at her full house with a smile on her rosy cheeks; she liked lively nights like these... As long nobody got stupid, drunk and/or violent. She grabbed herself a drink as she continued to serve everyone.

"What on earth is going on, Miria?" A blond haired chef asked her. She grinned toothily back.

"A boy with too much money on his hand, Francis. You'll be staying late tonight."

The cook sighed and mumbled something about irrational alcoholic bosses. Miria only smiled back and watched how her café's normal air of elegance turned into good cheer and slight rowdiness.

The night went on late, the flame that had captured everyone's attention dulled along with the Canadian's sober mind. But most continued to dance and sing until they had all forgotten their earlier plans. Matthew as well, he had just come for a drink and supper, but now he found himself dozing off.

He took his last sip of the ale (since the gin turned out not very good). He glared at nothing as the Russian's parting words echoed in his head. Matthew pouted despite his age.

_What the hell does he mean by that? "__Pray I never see him again__"__, what kind of bullshit was he sprouting? _

_Maman et Papa doivent me manquer. _Matthew laid his head down on his arms. He could smell the alcohol in his breath and in the air mingled with the roses... His glasses were pushed up to his forehead and he closed his eyes, seeing Ivan behind his close eyelids, the Russian putting his hat back on…

It was only by replaying that clip in his mind that Matthew thought it was strange. He started to drift off into sleep. It was strange how Ivan's eyes seemed to have glowed red in the dark...

September 2010, Yeah It's been revised, a lot better now, I added a few more clues and stuff and foreshadowing and yeah, I'm tired now, but I still have the three other chapters to go!

Torry – The name American's would call loyalists.

_Seulement si on est chanceux – Only if we're lucky!_

_D'accord, Mathieu? __–__Alright Matthew, _Mathieu is how the name is written in French.

_Merci Maman, -Thank you Mom._

_Mais Seigneur! __–__ By god!_

_Maman et Papa doivent me manquer __–__ Mom and Dad must be missing me._

I changed the format and how it's written and just a lot of technicalities and such, but yeah instead of chapters its acts cuz I'm a geek like that. This way I can be lazy creative and just tell you where the scene is taking place.

I would like to know if you like this version better or the other version. To me I find that this version does Canada more justice, I find that this is the character I wanted to portray and now I was able to pitch him properly. So please keep reading the other revised chapters, don't give up hope on me here. I really do plan on finishing this fic. Don't give up on me~~~ Hetalia is my life now so yeah…

Also there a lot more information and more explanations now I find my next chapters a lot less random and that is always a good thing in my book. XD

Feedback makes the world a better place.

All of you thank Koutwin (Hi! *3*) for reminding me to get back to work on this. And also special thanks to Kamichan for correcting my horrible run-on sentences…She discovered that I enjoy comas.

October, Last second update; I think there's still thousands of mechanical errors. *lesigh*


	2. Act 2: Ivan Braginski

HAPPY HETALIA DAY EVERYONE! TAKE A CHAPTER YOU'VE ALREADY READ! 8DDDD *shot*

Disclaimer: *looks at self in the mirror* nope I'm still me, meaning that I ain't sensei, thus I don't make a profit off of Hetalia. Too bad, eh? (…I don't own any cameo characters either .)

A/N we'll here's the revision I promised so I took down all the old chapters and stuff, so be sure to go re-read the first chapter if you haven't yet! ^-^ (You really should since I added a bunch of stuff…c:)

* * *

Act Two

Ivan Braginski

Scene .i

_Miria's café_

Miria was a beautiful woman. She was a lively spirit and always was cheerful, but she had bad habit of running away when problems seemed to rise (well not so much as running away but skilfully evading the problem instead). But still, she hadn't minded at all when the strange boy caused her café to turn into a bar. Finally at around 3 in the morning it was time to shoo away the drunken-singing men.

A light-hearted smile decorated her pretty face and she turned around when she heard a small yawn beside her.

"Peter, go home boy, I'll clean up the rest."

Now, Peter Kirkland was as lively as it got for being a twelve year old boy. He radiated energy even at this inappropriate time of night.

"But gran~ there's so much work left to be done. And your old body can't handle-OUCH!"

The woman hit her busboy on the head. Honestly she wasn't even that old! And yet the child always called her so. She had to teach the boy that "gran" and "old hag" were not terms of endearment.

Glaring at the annoyance that she hired, she reached into her pocket fishing out a gold coin from the pouch. Peter was a good boy despite his rudeness. He really didn't plan on leaving her with the work, but Miria couldn't in good conscious allow the boy to stay out any longer.

"You did good, boy. Now go home and tell your family what a good job you did."

The boy pouted until the gold coin was shoved into his face. He awed at the piece. The old hag never gave him that much before.

"Just think that it covers the overtime and the rowdy atmosphere. I don't want the lawyers in your family to come and sue me now do I?"

Peter smiled as he snatched the piece from her hand. He hugged the woman as he ran out, only to turn back to stick his tongue out and call her a granny. Another member of the staff was waiting for him, a tall silent man who had agreed to walk the boy home whatever the time of night.

The woman sighed as she waved goodbye to them. Turning she looked 'round on the mess her once beautiful café was now in.

Anyways she still had Dodger around.

"Oi, Dodger, get your bloody ass up and help me clean!"

Grabbing her towel for the dishes she round it up, whipping his ass. Dodger jumped right out of his skin. Cursing the woman, he rubbed his bottom soothingly all while glaring at her.

"Is that really how you treat the man that made it so you could run your own business?"

The woman's small smile never left her soft face. She wiped the counters clean and picked up the few remaining dishes.

"You were the one who insisted on signing the papers for me, Dodger. I'm sure I could have easily found someone else."

Dodger's face flushed, knowing what she said was true. So he went over to help her, grabbing the tray out of her hands.

"That maybe so but how could I trust my brother's widow over to some stranger?"

She smiled at him. They were the same age, just having entered their thirties. Which is why she refused to be called Mam' or granny. Dodger blushed under her smile. He was turning to bring the tray of dirty dishes into the back when she pulled on his sleeve.

"Dodger...Do you ever miss him, so much that it hurts?"

The man's heart skipped a beat and then he turned to leave.

"Everyday...Miria."

He walked into the kitchen nearly crashing into the cook who was exiting.

"Well tonight was exciting! Wasn't it Miria~?" The Frenchman winked at her.

"Francis, you haven't left yet. How unusual." She replied back as the man kissed both her cheeks. His light blond hair floated about his handsome face; his sea-blue eyes were drawn to another blond in the room. He smirked at the sleeping form.

"What a cute boy, is he a new decor?"

Miria laughed. Francis Bonnefoy is an immigrant from France, because of his families royalist views he and his family left France when Francis was only a boy –thus refugees from the Reign of Terror.

"Shouldn't you be going to join your crackpot of an emperor now?"

Francis shrugged. He cared little for the ongoing political struggles in France, or anywhere else for that matter, he would rather just cook here. He walked over to the sleeping form and realized that despite the fact that he was kidding earlier, the boy was actually very cute. _He could be my décor any day…_

He shook the boy's shoulder gently and Francis received no reaction. So he shoved the boy harder. The boy's eyes fluttered open, but glared at the thing that was trying to wake him up. He grumbled in his sleep.

"Non maman...c'est trop tot... Je ne veux pas me lever..."

For a second Francis thought that his eyes might have fallen out of his sockets, since they had widened and bulged in complete shock. The sleeping boy was definitely speaking in French. It sounded…rather off, but then again since Francis' mother died last year he hasn't spoken to anyone in his native language. Then maybe French as a whole was becoming more foreign to the Frenchman (this thought depressed Francis like nothing else, since he adored his rich culture and language).

"Garçon... Je ne suis pas votre mère, et je ne suis pas votre père. Je suis l'homme de tes rêves~"

Matthew sat himself up blinking a few times as he looked at the man who had woken him up, a blank look spread across his face. It was a mix of the alcohol still in his system along with the heavy drowsiness that threatened to close the Canadian's eyes at any given moment.

"No you're not."

Then he went back down, leaving Francis feeling a little abashed and heart-broken. (Oh how cruel~) He jumped when he realized that Miria was sitting at the table watching him. She bat her eyelashes at him.

"So...What just happened?" She asked curiously, looking rather pumped for a strange reason…

Francis faked a broken heart. "I was rejected."

"Ah. Nothing new then." She teased and laughed, but this time for sure the Frenchman felt something stab him in the heart. He couldn't help but think how direct the woman had become since her late husband's death. He remembered when as a boy he could make the lovely married lady blush. Aw~ those were the good days. The woman looked at the boy, relaxing into her hand as she leaned into it.

"I don't think he's from France, if that's what you were wondering Francis."

He gave her a half-dumbfounded look. "Then where else could he be from? It's possible that he comes from Lyon, the accent differs from where you're from…" He mused mostly to himself.

She shrugged, obviously not curious enough to even throw a guess. Instead she reached over tapped the boy's hands.

"Oi, deary. You need to leave now, do you hear? It's closing time..."

The boy's eyes fluttered. He tried to sit up, failing the first few times, but once he had sat up his face was flushed. The alcohol was still going strong. His eyes were hazy, and in all seriousness it was an arousal. Francis found himself blushing, he found it hard to hold himself back from jumping the boy right then and there. The cook and owner exchanged a look; there was no way they could leave the kid on his own.

"...I can't move."

Matthew complained with his red cheeks he pouted. Tears started to form in his eyes out of annoyance more than anything. Francis grabbed Miria's arms, and started to shake her as he yelled at his boss.

"Please oh please! Can't I take him home? I will never ask you for a raise again! I swear I won't take anyone else home unless they want—"

"No, you bloody pervert!" She yelled back, pushing said pervert off of her. Shaking her head, she noticed that the boy was falling asleep again.

"Am I doing all the work, for god's sake?" Dodger yelled at the two distracted people. Holding a wet napkin, obviously he was doing the dishes alone in the back. The two scratched their heads in shame. The clock sounded in the front, and Miria looked at the time and sighed.

"Dodger, leave it. Go home, get some rest. Francis will help me get this boy to the taxi company, since he needs to grab cab anyway, right?" Francis nodded slightly disappointed that he can't take the cute foreign boy with him home.

Dodger rolled his eyes and grunted in agreement. It was late he was tired and his wife expected him at Church tomorrow, so he left (forgetting to leave the wet napkin behind but Miria didn't mind). She was tired as well. She would get this boy home then return and rest, since the café was underneath her apartment.

Tomorrow was Sunday, she mused. Miria could sleep all day...

Getting up she grabbed her jacket and then returned to where the boy laid on the table. She saw the boy's jacket resting on his seat so she pulled it off and put it on him. Once they had his jacket on, they pulled him up to his feet and shared the boy's weight together.

"You know..." Francis grunted as he shifted the boy's form to be more comfort and less sexually awkward for the Frenchman. "This isn't in my job description."

Miria laughed. "Suck it up." she said, she opened the door for them. "Anyways...It's just down the block. Don't be such a wanker..."

The three made their way. Matthew spoke (whined) when they got outside, something about the smell...and umbrellas? (This, in effect, reminded Miria that the boy had brought an umbrella, so she left him with Francis as she went to retrieve it).

While the two stood there, Francis had decided to distract himself by asking the boy some questions.

"What's your name? Where do you come from?"

"Matthew...Canada..."

"Hmmm…Canada? Isn't that an English colony?"

Matthew shook and nodded his head in Francis's chest. Leaving the latter to worry if that was all the Canadian was going to say, he held back a sigh of relief when mumbling ensued.

"It used to be a French colony; England was kind enough to let us keep our culture from our time as a French colony and stuff. Maman…"

Francis nodded, it was then that Miria appeared with the umbrella, grabbing Matthew's other arm, they set off. They were trying to coax out where Matthew was staying on the way to the taxi company. They figured that the boy came and stayed with family, so they would be able to cover the taxi fees when the cab got him home safely.

But Matthew was being difficult he wasn't sure where he was staying, he kept repeating Montreal, Montréal. Saying that was his home, but then he would laugh after he realized that it was half way around the world.

The taxi company wasn't very far; they could smell the horses and see them under the lampposts.

Matthew, despite his drunken state, recalled how much darker it seemed in a city, when compared to farmlands…It was very dark in London when night fell and the chimney smoke would rise –blocking out most of the moonlight. It was incredibly lonely without the stars watching over you, the Canadian decided.

They could hear light chatter as they arrived at the company. Light fell from inside the building, outlining silhouettes of men talking with light voices.

Miria recognized one of them.

"Mr. Kirkland? You haven't gone home yet?"

A handsome man turned to look at the speaker and smiled lightly as he recognized Miria, the smile disappeared when he saw Francis.

"No, I haven't yet; actually I've just arrived from a quick visit to our branch in Cambridge. Peter didn't tell you?"

He bid farewell to his colleagues and walked up to Miria, glaring at Francis who only smiled happily in return. Arthur acknowledged him.

"Frog."

"Arthur."

Arthur Kirkland's glare intensified. He hated the French (it was practically in his genes), but he especially hated this Frenchman. Even though the Bonnefoy grew up here in London, the Frenchman irked and flabbergasted the Englishman. And yet the two considered each other friends, even more surprising, Arthur considered Francis as one of his closest friend. Their argumentative natures just got the batter of them both.

Handsome and young, Arthur had just recently graduated from Cambridge with great honours. A passionate but not necessarily a happy man, often people found him hard to get along with, but there was a charm that many found hard to deny about the Englishman.

"So who's this drunkard?" He brought his bushy eyebrows together in confusion, feeling as if he knew the boy.

Matthew who had fallen asleep while walking lifted his head up in a daze. Hearing voices, he was curious to see who was speaking. Matthew at first glance didn't really think he knew the man standing in front of him, but when he noticed the man's eyebrows a lopsided grin appeared.

Arthur as well recognized the boy when he had a good look at his face. He jumped back in surprise when the boy threw his arms around Arthur's neck, in an awkward-dazed hug.

"Arthur!"

"Wi-Wi-Williams?"

Shocked, Arthur stood rigidly as the Canadian continued to hug him. That is, until Matthew's laughter stopped and the intoxicated boy stood up straight for the first time that night.

"You don't smell very good. Not bad, like the city, but not very good."

The aghast look on Arthur's face changed to one of complete wrath when Matthew turned and threw his arms around Francis.

"Hmmmm…He smells like happiness…Ah~ maple… "

Francis and Arthur stared surprised at each other, but Francis turned his attention back onto Miria he tried a pleading look.

"May I please take him home?"

"No!" Arthur replied by grabbing Matthew off of the Frenchman. Miria laughed at the scene, but it was stifled by a yawn. The two were busy glaring and arguing while Matthew whined about the smell and the cold.

"Well, boys I'm off home. I've had a long day. Tell Peter the shop is closed tomorrow, and probably the day after. I think I'll need the time to recuperate."

Arthur nodded to her, giving her a grateful smile.

"Thank you for always taking good care of my brother, I know he can be a pest at times."

"No, no deary. Peter is a wonderful boy, he works hard and I am grateful for his help. Without him, the rest of the staff and Francis. I wouldn't know what to do. "

Francis grabbed her hand and kissed it. "It is I that wouldn't know what to do without you, Miria. Should I walk you back, it is rather late…"

Miria shook her head. "No thank you Francis. It's a five minute walk when you're not half-carrying a full grown man." She laughed then waved her goodbyes as she made her way back, turning to say.

"Mr. Kirkland I'll leave that boy in your care, since he won't tell us where he wants to go!"

And soon the city darkness erased her image form their sights, leaving a sobering up Canadian, an annoyed Englishman and a very care-free Frenchman.

"Arthur~ I'm tired."

"I can take him off your hands if you'd like, Arthur."

"Over my dead-body you perverted frog! Anyways, I'll just bring Matthew home to my place. I know where his parents are, but they're staying outside the city. I'll bring him home in the morning." He said mostly to himself as he made the plans, but Francis smirked archly.

"Oh~ so you just want to keep him to yourself, oui, Arthur?"

Arthur blushed in embarrassment and anger. Stupid Francis twisting his own words against him!

"No! You stupid frog! Ugh! Taxi!"

A cabby was waiting for them. It wasn't very polite to interrupt a conversation and in all, he found it rather amusing. But when he was called he jumped into attention and pulled up his cab closer to the men, jumping down to open the door for them.

"Where will it be governor'?"

"Ordanance Terrane."

"Rochester Street." Francis added with a fake British accent.

The cabby nodded and mounted himself up on his seat, after giving his good gal and nice rub on the nose.

"What the hell are you doing frog?"

"Our places are not a block apart Arthur. It would be more efficient if we shared the cab, non?"

Arthur just glared at him as he helped Matthew into the taxi. He sat beside the Canadian who laid his head down on the Englishman's shoulder, sighing softly he fell back to sleep.

"He is very cute, your friend." Francis said as the cab started to move forward.

"He's hopeless that's what he is."

Arthur glared at Francis. It had been a while since the Frenchman last seen Arthur get so protective, so of course he couldn't help but laugh.

"I wouldn't call him that. So, how do you know him? I didn't think you were inclined to travel. He's from… Oh, where did he say again? Canada?"

Arthur nodded stiffly. Matthew Williams was a childhood friend. The Kirkland family wasn't inclined to travel, but the Williams did. Every other year, Matthew would be thrown upon Arthur's responsibility since the boy was three years younger than him. Matthew was almost like his first younger brother; since Peter wasn't even born the first few times the Canadian visited. Arthur didn't mind taking care of the boy, Matthew was polite and not a lot of trouble, the one thing that always bothered Arthur was…

"He's hopeless because he's so naïve and dreadfully innocent."

Francis hummed, as he tilted his head. He knew Arthur wouldn't answer to any more of his questions, and the Frenchman thought he had enough with pestering the Englishman, so he leaned against the frame and watched the familiar homes of London as the cabby drove by.

Scene .ii

_In the streets of London_

A figure loomed in the shadows. His red eyes watched the cab go by in the still of the night. He paced quickly opposite to it; his feet were soundless, as if he were a ghost. But ghosts weren't solid, ghosts couldn't harm you.

He was beyond a ghost.

He found himself in front of the café. He could see the flickering candlelight in the upstairs window. His highly trained ears could hear the soft murmuring of a prayer. He smirked at the sound. He opened the front door gleefully since it had unlocked itself for him. And it was the slight creaking of the door being pushed open that could have warned the woman upstairs, for the man's footsteps were mute.

"Glory be to the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost,"

Her prayers were a warm up for the short crescendo that will follow. The man's smirk was devilish in the light that escaped the doorframe.

"I do not ask that you help me, but instead to guide me and my soul to where my loved one and you await me,"

He couldn't hold back. He wanted to laugh at the cruel irony. She smelled so good. Her words were so pure. It was so tempting to make her suffer…

"For that Good Night, I fear is drawing near… I know that your scripture stated that death we do part, but I can't…"

The woman took a deep breath. The shaky sound was foreign to the man's ear. It was so intimate: this silent confession, to a God that has already caused her so much pain…

Ivan Braginski's smile widened.

He would be the bringer of salvation to this woman. Miria was her name wasn't it? After his conversation with the Canadian boy he felt so thirsty, he ached for a drink. But his ache was for Matvey's blood. The thick red liquid warm in his mouth, hearing the boy's moans of pain and ecstasy…He could feel himself become aroused just by the thought of it.

Ivan had watched the woman and the man carry out the boy. Matthew Williams, what an intriguing boy. His eyes sparked something within him, the violet eyes; a unique and rare trait in this world. It had been a while since the man had found enjoyment in a conversation.

And the answer he gave the Russian sent his bloodlust pumping. But at the same time Ivan wanted to speak again with the boy. He wanted Matvey to be his, not for the last night but for many to follow… But the blood lust was strong; he wanted to drink Matvey's blood more than anything else. And Ivan had to comply. He would drink blood tonight and if he couldn't have Matthew's –he would have the next closest thing.

And this shop owner was covered in Matthew's scent.

"Isaac…Why did you have to die?"

The Russian laughed cruelly as he pushed open the door, startling Miria. She turned her face towards the intruder, her brown eyes wide with astonishment. Her tear strained face made her look younger in the soft glow of her candle light. She couldn't even gasp due to her surprise.

She was still on her knees from prayers, with a beautiful white rosary in hand; the precious beads glowed and shone with the flickering of the flame. The intruder walked silently to her. In the back of Miria's mind she thought maybe the man before her was a hallucination. An angel of death. Her floorboards always creaked when she walked crossed it…

"Rejoice, Miria. You will now be joining your Isaac."

He knelt down onto his knee. The Russian's hand gently caressing her cheek for a moment: only to pause as he held up her chin as to memorize the fear that was slowly consuming her face. Ivan smiled at the woman. How beautiful this face was…. He closed his eyes as he felt another stray tear fall onto his hand. He breathed in deeply and imagined a violet eyed boy.

Matthew's scent was scattered across the room with the woman's blood.

* * *

Translations:

_"Il est beau!" -He's handsome!_

_"Non maman...c'est trop tot... __Je ne veux pas me lever..." -No mom, it's too early...I don't want to get up..._

_"Garçon... Je ne suis pas votre mère, et je ne suis pas votre père. __Je suis l'homme de tes rêves~"_

_Boy...I'm not your mother, and I'm not your father. I am the man of your dreams~_

_oui, Arthur. -Yes Arthur._

_Non? -No?_

OK that last part with Ivan kind of freaks me out. . And OMg I made a huge historical inaccuracy in the first chapter. (can anybody guess it or realised its a really stupid mistake, it was true at some point but not at this point of time) TT_TT but I will ignore it cuz I really liked how Matthe and Ivan's conversation turned out.

And Yup no more history lessons, but I've been in the Hetalia community long enough now to know that you guys are like the smartest fandom ever so you don't need me to ramble on uselessly.

Wow, Kamichan helped me out again! But to make myself feel better I either a) didn't do as many mistakes as the first chapter or b) she left a lot because she didn't feel like correcting my horrible coma splices all over again. Personally I'm hoping for 1 but I think I would have to place my bets on the later. XD

Please feedback is nice~ Tell me what you thought of it! *3* Or Francis will unleash the bloodbath on you~! XD (Oh wait that's encouraging no reviews!)


	3. Act 3: Francis Bonnefoy

Disclaimer: I own plot…That's about it. Hetalia is not nor will it ever be mine…

* * *

Act Three

Francis Bonnefoy

Scene .i

_At the Kirkland family estate with Arthur_

Matthew woke up with a pounding headache. The sunlight hit Matthew's eyelids with such a force that it annoyed the Canadian. He laid down on the bed grimacing at his predicament (since he was too comfortable to move and he wasn't sure if his body would function even if tried to move) so he stayed where he was until a certain thought made its way.

_Où suis-je?_

He forced his eyes open and saw an unfamiliar ceiling, so he was right in thinking that wasn't at his place. He tried sitting himself up, but failed since a wave of dizziness washed over him as he flopped back down he chose to instead look around.

From what the Canadian could tell about the room (since he wasn't wearing his eyeglasses) the room was tidy and rather typical guest bedroom. Through blurry vision he noticed flowers on the night stand –red roses. The powerful scent filled up the room and Matthew smiled gratefully. It was soothing. Wanting to touch the petals, he found his glasses on the night table and instead placed them on his face.

He found the strength to sit up properly in his bed, he grabbed the pot and set it down on his lap. He lowered his face into the flowers childishly stuffing his face in the soft bed of petals. Not an ounce of worry within Matthew as he had realized where he was. Memories from the night before coming to his mind…The door opened and Matthew smiled at his friend.

"Hey Arthur."

Arthur blushed as if he had his hand caught in a maple cookie jar (except Arthur was not carrying a cookie jar but rather another vase of flowers). Matthew smiled at his old friend. He knew how thoughtful the Englishman was and the Canadian could vaguely recall himself complaining about a smell to his older brother figure.

"So you're awake." He unsuccessfully hid the vase behind his back. "Are you thirsty?" Before Matthew could reply Arthur ran from the doorway. Matthew giggled as he returned the vase back onto its place on the side table.

Matthew scooted himself so that he could lean against the bed post comfortably. His eyes were adjusted to the light but his headache continued on, he tried his best to ignore it as Arthur reappeared with tea.

"Here." Arthur gave the boy a warm cup, Matthew nodded and whispered his thanks as he took a very welcomed sip. He was grateful that he wasn't so much a lightweight that he would vomit or wasn't able to eat or drink during a hangover. Actually his stomach cheered for the tea but wanted food.

Matthew glanced at Arthur then at the roses on the bedside. It was rather big bouquet. Matthew bit his lower lip.

"I'm sorry for my behaviour last night, Arthur…I think I said some things I shouldn't have…"

Arthur smiled gently at the Canadian, that's what he liked about the boy. He was uncannily polite and thoughtful of his actions (well…While he was sober).

"You didn't do anything absurd so you don't have to worry about it alright?"

The word "worry" triggered something in Matthew's mind. His parents!

"Umm…Arthur what about-"

"I already contacted your parents last night." Well technically early morning, but annoyingly enough it was thanks to the frog's reminder…

Arthur kept the last piece of information to himself, but as he isn't the most discreet type Matthew could see the annoyed expression on Arthur face quite plainly, and it worried and confused the Canadian at the same time.

"AH! It's the rich drunk!"

The two looked over to the door, Arthur (more) annoyed and Matthew even more confused. There was a miniature version of Arthur standing in the doorway. The only difference Matthew could spot right away was the eye colour; instead of the warm leaf green that was Arthur's, it was a brilliant baby blue.

Arthur glared at his little brother.

"Peter. That is no way to speak to our guest!"

Matthew suppressed a gasp of surprise. The last time he had seen the boy was when he was a toddler! He had grown a lot in the last 5 years… The boy shrugged then walked over to the other side of the bed (that way he creates a safe distance from his brother), and stared hard at the Canadian.

"Hey…Do you have any more gold?"

"Peter!"

But Matthew just laughed at the two; his headache surprisingly began to disappear as the two started to argue. When things settled down Arthur could hear Matthew's stomach rumbling.

"Do you want to go out for brunch, Matthew? Then I could give you a proper tour of the city if you'd like."

Matthew nodded enthusiastically but before he could say anything he was interrupted by the excited little boy, who had his arm raised up (as if he was in a classroom).

"I want to come too!"

Arthur continued to glare at the boy. "No, you have your lessons with father today! You know how busy he is. You are not allowed to miss them."

Peter sat back down into his chair putting, mumbling about how boring the lessons were and what not. Matthew saw this silence as a window of opportunity, he wanted to get dress and eat as soon as they (the Kirkland brothers) would allow him.

"Yes I would like that very much, but maybe I should go see my parents first?"

Arthur tapped Matthew on the shoulder smiling.

"Do not worry about them, your parents asked me to do this. I even have some clothes that should fit you. They used to belong to my older brother Wallace… You grew up quickly, you know, you're taller than me now."

Matthew didn't know, he was still sitting down and last night was still a blur. Matthew nodded as Arthur dragged Peter out of the room, despite the boy's cries of protest.

Matthew stood up to his feet. He was feeling better as the thought of food calmed his stomach and headache. He noticed the basin and started washing up. The water was still warm; it felt good on his face.

His thoughts drifted to the night before. He could clearly remember the Russian, Ivan Braginski. The tall man had left way too much money on the table especially if it was enough to feed the entire café. From their short conversation, Matthew figured Ivan wasn't the type who would mistakenly put down that much…So Matthew blew it all, drowning his weirded out self in some good ale and cheap gin.

After a while of song and fun, he had fallen asleep. Matthew remembers a voice…It was rich, deep and husky voice, but all the while soothing and fatherly. Matthew pulled his eyebrows together to trying to put a face to the intriguing voice.

Then he could see it, the conversation appeared in his head causing him to blush from embarrassment.

_'L'homme de tes rêves'_

_'No you're not.'_

Matthew threw more water on his face feeling hot as he remembered how the man wanted to take the Canadian to his home…

"Matthew? I've brought you my brother's clothes."

Matthew whirled around. Arthur held up some fresh clean clothes (Matthew's face was still flushed) so he gratefully took them while avoiding eye contact.

"Arthur…Who was in the cab with us last night?"

The young man asked timidly as he laid out the new set of clothes on the bed. He began unbutton his own shirt, stopping when he noticed that his red ribbon was missing. Wondering if it had fallen off when- he stopped his train of thought.

Arthur froze at the question: he really didn't want to talk about the frog. The frog and he were like their nations. They could never get along.

"…He was nobody."

Matthew took off his shirt he turned to look at Arthur, with a confused look on his face. He shook his head in disagreement as he grabbed the clean shirt.

"I remember he and the woman helped me to the cab company. I need to thank and apologize to them for their kindness."

Arthur turned away from the boy (had he no sense of modesty?) and clicked his tongue.

"There's no point in thanking a frog Matthew, anyways it's best to stay away from his type…"

Matthew tilted his head as he took off his trousers.

"What's his type?"

Arthur blushed as images from a blurry night seeped through his mind. He turned to yell at the Canadian but stunned himself silly when he realized Matthew was still changing. Thankfully Matthew was done dressing when Arthur had spun around. _That was fast._

Arthur just gaped at the boy who now putting his boots on. Once he was done Matthew looked up expectantly at Arthur, waiting for the reply.

"The French type."

And Arthur Kirkland_ gallantly_ marched out of the room knowing that Matthew would follow. Matthew kept his mouth shut and tried not to look exasperated, _I'm half–French you know_…

But it wasn't very difficult to forgive Arthur's insensitivity, the Canadian was too happy to let the unintentional insult get to him. He knew where the café was –he'll force Arthur to bring him later. As they passed the sitting room, Matthew recognized Mrs. Kirkland.

"Matthew!"

"Mrs. Kirkland!"

"Ah, Matthew!" She hugged the boy. "I told you not to call me that. Mum is fine!" Matthew kissed her on both cheeks. (This caused Arthur to freeze for a bit since he was uncannily reminded of an annoying Frenchman.)

Mrs. Kirkland blushed and smiled shyly. She snapped suddenly, causing the two young men to jump.

"Peter Kirkland! Now where do you think you're going?"

Peter stopped in his tracks; he didn't want to have his lessons. He felt that stalking his brother and the guest was a lot more promising for entertainment. (And maybe if he was lucky enough the rich guy would drop a few coins along the way). But a mother's senses are never to be underestimated.

"Uh…The kitchen?"

But his mother was already marching towards him. Arthur cleared the path; the anger issue is a hereditary trait…From his mother's side of the family.

"Uhh. Well Matthew and I will be going now mother!"

Arthur grabbed Matthew while he could; Matthew yelled his apology and goodbyes to Mrs. Kirkland. She yelled back that she would see him soon. They were outside when they could hear cries of terror that sounded scarily alike Peter's…

"She's as lively as ever!" Matthew laughed, not noticing that Arthur was still holding his hand. But the Englishman noticed he practically broke his arm when he swung it out of the hold. Matthew continued to laugh.

"Where do you want to go?" Arthur asked the Canadian as a quick recovery.

Matthew smiled. Their pace was even now, they had their long coats on, since Arthur had grabbed them both before rushing out of the house. But they were walking in a park now. Which reassured the Canadian, he looked up to the sky, and it was grey and cloudy. There was a low wind picking them up by their knees, Matthew recognized that it was going to rain soon.

"My umbrella?"

Arthur shrugged, and added. "I'll get it later, so how' bout some food?" Matthew nodded; his stomach had started its complaint again.

"I hope the place we go to is good, I remember when we were kids how awful the food was someplace. But I can't remember where we were eating though…" Matthew held his chin trying to remember where the awful food was. Arthur on the other hand, was shocked but tried miserably to hide it, luckily for him the Canadian wasn't paying attention anyways.

Arthur could remember the young Matthew eating at their home and refusing to finish it, his parents as well looked taken back from the food. The following evening the Williams insisted that the Kirkland's have dinner at their house. Arthur's parents had a huge amount of pride and since the Williams son was being taken care of in their household during the day, they decided to hire a young French boy to cook for the family.

_"Non, I do not mind. Cooking is a passion of mine."_

The young frog smiled at the young Arthur who blushed and "humph'd" as he turned his head away.

Arthur glared at nothing, he didn't want to disappoint Matthew, and the boy did want to see the frog anyways. Growling under his breath, he turned to Matthew who was still trying to remember where he had eaten the disgusting food.

"Do you want to meet the person who carried you last night?"

Matthew surprised, nodded. "The man?"

"Yes…" Arthur let out a heavy sigh. "His name is Francis Bonnefoy. He works as the cook in Miria's coffee house."

"Miria?" Matthew thought that must be the name of the woman. He remembered cursing her and liking her all at the same time. She was the one who sat him at the table with Ivan, despite knowing how strange he was. But she was very nice to have brought him to the cab company; he must have caused a lot of trouble for her.

"I'll have to thank her later…" Arthur started to lead them towards the Frenchman's house on Rochester. He confessed that he wasn't sure if the man was at home or not. Matthew didn't mind, he could wait, or so he hoped his stomach could.

It was a nice little home. It looked cheerful; the garden was very well kept in the front of the house. Beautiful roses and lilies decorated the lawn, trim to a point but still had a natural air of elegance in them.

The two stood at the front entrance for a bit. Arthur froze with his fist raised as if he would knock the door. Matthew stared at the back of Arthur's head, feeling a bit irate at the weird picture, as his stomach gave out another growl.

"Umm…Arthur. Are we going in, eh?"

The Englishman's fist fell to his side, he was silently crying to himself. He couldn't knock the bloody door. He didn't want to see the damn frog two times in the last twenty-four hours. As if on cue, the door opened, revealing a confused Francis.

"Arthur? Qu'est ce que vous faites la?"

Francis eyes went to the boy standing behind Arthur. Smiling seductively, he opened further the door and stepped aside to greet them in.

"Please come in~"

Matthew has a sneaking suspicion that Arthur wouldn't move unless the Canadian went in first. So he walked past his frozen friend into the Frenchman's home. Arthur hadn't moved yet, so Francis jokingly started to close the door, suddenly the overprotective Arthur appeared.

"Oh no you don't, you pervert!"

He pushed open the door and let himself in, Francis just chuckled, thinking how lucky he was to have two cute boys suddenly decide to visit him.

He extended his hand towards Matthew. The Canadian took it and smiled.

"So we meet again, Matthew from Canada."

"Yes…I wanted to apologize and thank you properly for last night." He chuckled and he added. "My full name is Matthew Williams."

"My name is Francis Bonnefoy, if you don't already know I originated from la France, but my family and I emigrated from the Reign of terror…"

Matthew nodded in understanding; his knowledge on political events was up to date. He knew all about Robespierre and his government that followed the French Revolution. Francis brought them to the sitting room, Mathew noticed a portrait, a beautiful woman with a younger Francis standing behind her, she looked comfortable in her seat. She glowed with radiance, as she smiled softly to the world outside the painting.

"Who's that?" He asked as he stood in front of it, completely captivated by the woman's blue eyes.

"That is my mother. Marie-Jeanne. Magnifique portrait non?"

"Quand êtes-vous posés?"

"Juste avant sa décesse."

He replied with a sad smile. Matthew's eyes widened. He bit his lower lip. The two were ignoring Arthur who looked confused at the exchange as it had caught him off guard, but he could still read that the mood wasn't very good.

"Mes condoléances …"

"Merci, Mathieu."

Arthur figured out what they were talking about, Matthew just offered his condolences. They were talking about Jo. Arthur held back a sigh, and decided to break the sombre atmosphere.

"Frog, we came here for a reason."

Matthew glared at Arthur; it was rude to address someone in that tone. But the Frenchman was very used to it. He smiled at Arthur. Extended his arms out and walked towards Arthur. The Englishman stiffened as he backed away from the threatened hug. Francis smirked at Arthur's apparent fear but turned towards Matthew instead.

"So how can I be of service to you gentlemen today?"

"Well, I'm not sure but Arthur was going to take me out for brunch, when he brought us here."

Matthew smiled shyly under Francis kind stare. Francis laughed; he patted Arthur on the back.

"You came to the right place! Even though Arthur refuses to admit it, I am the best cook in London, if not, all of England!" He exclaimed. "Why don't you two take a seat? I'll be right with you with some appetizers, oui?"

Matthew sighed in relief, he was starving now. He worried that his grumpy side would show if he didn't have something to eat soon. But his smile disappeared when he saw Francis's eyes glance over to the painting. It was so sad…

"Matthew let's just sit and enjoy our damn day."

At that Matthew couldn't help but chuckle, almost unbelieving at how unsympathetic his childhood friend was.

Scene .ii

_At the Kirkland family estate with Peter_

Peter Kirkland is 12 years old, he works for a nice lady called Miria, despite the fact his family is very well off. But with how things go his oldest brother will have the estate. Then everyone will have a piece of what they want and him, the youngest, the child they hadn't anticipated would get the scraps.

"Typical."

The boy grumbled under his breath. Mr. Kirkland tapped his son on the head, but he smiled gently as the boy pouted. He was studying geography at the moment; all of Mr. Kirkland's maps were pulled out to aid the boy in his studies. But the boy's interest laid not in the maps…He wanted to at least enjoy some of the day.

"Peter let's go out for a walk, what do you say?"

Mr. Kirkland was in his mid-forties, an accident impaired his leg, so he walked about slowly with his cane. Peter at first shook his head, not wanting to force his father up. But Mr. Kirkland had his mind set on the walk. So he pulled on his long coat and his hat and started for the door. Peter had to rush to get ready, and jog after the old man.

Once outside a comfortable silence settled on the two. Peter allowed his mind to wonder.

Peter really liked his father, but he didn't like the fact that he was the youngest that he gets nothing for it...But that was how things worked. He can only hope that by saving early he could be fine on his own somehow.

"Peter, do you know why I teach you things?"

The boy kicked a stray pebble; it was a nice day, even without the sun out. It was bright through the grey clouds. Their pace was slow as his father tried not to appear dependent on his cane. Peter shrugged his shoulder and didn't say anything.

"I teach you because that is what I want to give you. Knowledge."

Peter was a couple of paces in front of his father. He turned and looked at the older man. He was smiling. Peter though briefly, that was him, his father was the glimpse into Peter's own future.

"I was the youngest son you know, the only thing my father gave me was what I've given you. I want to educate you, so that you can do whatever you like, I'll let you in on a secret Peter." He waved his son close, Peter complied, and Mr. Kirkland leaned in his ear.

"You're free to do whatever you wish."

He petted his son, smiling all the while. He was very calm, but determined. Peter felt his eyes sting, but his pride wouldn't let him show it.

"Stupid dad! I know that of course!"

If Mrs. Kirkland was with them she would have given her son a good slap across the head, but her husband is a good humoured man, he laughed and patted Peter's back as they continued their walk. Mr. Kirkland smirked wishing to tease his son a bit more.

"You can do whatever you like with your future."

"Shut up!"

The boy blushed furiously; the father thought it was funny how all of his sons reacted this way when he would give them a little pep talk. They continued to walk in silence. It was then that Peter realized he forgot to gloat about the extra pocket money.

"Dad! Last night, that guy with Arthur-"

"Matthew?"

"Yeah, the one that talks strange!"

Mr. Kirkland nodded, waiting for Peter to finish his sentence.

"He was a rich drunk, he bought drinks for everyone and stuff! Miria gave me a huge tip for keeping me late because of it!"

He pulled out the golden coin from his pocket holding it high in victory, smirking to himself. His father awed and then placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Return it."

Whoosh, said the wind dramatically as the two stood in awkward silence. Peter's arm lowered, tears forming in his eyes. His victory snatched away.

"Why?"

The smile never left his father's face.

"Because it's the right thing to do. And Miss. Miria is a widow and needs all the money she can get her hands on. She's a kind woman with a good heart, let's be kind as well and return the favour."

Peter nodded in understanding. Keeping I thought I was free to make my own choices? He understood and was grateful for the talk that the two had shared. They started walking towards Miria's place. It would be a nice long walk.

Peter who knew he wouldn't be a boy long, decided to hold his father's hand like a child for what he believed to be the last time.

Scene .iii

_The Bonnefoy home_

The food was exquisite. Matthew felt his whole body relieved by the delicious food his new friend had served. Arthur as well despite his grouchy looks appeared to be quite satisfied with the meal.

Francis didn't eat with them, as he had already eaten before they had arrived, so he allowed himself to stare patiently at the two while they ate their meal. His eyes would switch in between the two, he liked how cute they both were. Arthur he was used to but Matthew was a different kind of cute, a very innocent and naïve type. Good hearted and polite, unlike his British counterpart, fiery and downright rude.

Matthew spoke softly breaking the comfortable silence that had settled.

"Why don't you two tell me about you relationship, eh? Tell me about yourself Monsieur Bonnefoy."

Francis shook his head. "Francis is fine, mon cher Mathieu. I don't mind talking about it, but Arthur here seems to have gone rigid as if he wanted to avoid the subject."

Matthew looked over at the British who was now glaring at the Frenchman with such intensity the Canadian wouldn't have been surprised if Francis caught fire because of it. Noticing his friend was staring at him, Arthur coughed and decided it was time he led the conversation.

"Well, Matthew. If you would like to know, Francis and his family worked for my parents and a few other families, they were of noble background in France but saw that their title would mean nothing after the Revolution."

"We were rather close _avec la famille royale. Mais_, as things turned around and changed that was a bad thing."

"With Robespierre, heads were rolling right and left, and this one would have rolled as well if it wasn't for their great escape here."

Francis nodded. "Especially since my uncle was an open _Girondist_. At the time I was only a boy, things have cooled down of course since 1794. My family and I were planning on returning home since it was all over, but my father passed away. My mother didn't see the point in returning to Paris. Especially since our estate there has been reported looted then burned to the ground. So we remained here. My mother grieved until her death last year, I only wish I could have buried her at her home."

Arthur didn't wait for Matthew to apologize again.

"In the meanwhile this sorry git has been working for Miria. Her family was well off and he worked for them and us as a child, he continued to follow her after she had married Isaac, and is now the sole chef for that café you met him at."

The Frenchman smiled. "Yes she is lovely woman. And I find myself quite privilege to bestow upon this sorry nation some edible delicacies."

Arthur glared and Matthew laughed. He knew there was probably more that they hadn't told him, so he wanted to push his luck further.

"Well what about the two of you? Where does your friendship come from?"

Arthur froze and looked pained, as if he couldn't believe that Matthew had just suggested that the two of them, Francis and he were friends, but Francis laughed at the boy.

"Well not as much as a friendship, but more of a one-sided love. Except that I was rejected by Arthur here."

Matthew eyes widened with shock, an "Eh?" escaping his lips and Arthur looked devastated as if this was the thing he wanted to avoid at all cost. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to say something –anything. He needed to clear up any misunderstandings and-

"Oh, I see. But it's good that the two of you were able to maintain such a good relationship, non?"

Arthur's brain has never exploded before. It was an interesting feeling.

"Yes, I thought so too. I thought for sure after that night, Arthur would never speak with me again, it does give me hope. But I like to keep my options open, oui? I eventually learned that Arthur wasn't the only one for me. _Non_!" He rose up dramatically, stars shining in his eyes. "A great lover like moi, cannot be reserved for one. I am but the lover of many! The bringer of joy and happiness in this bleak uptight city! I am Francis Bonnefoy, and I love all!"

Arthur's soul had never left his body before. Matthew watched the Frenchman with awe, he had never met someone so…open before. He knew back at home, the community would throw a hissy fit and probably call him a devil, but Matthew didn't care much about those things. Someone who could cook this good definitely wasn't a bad person.

Arthur whacked Francis in the face and started yelling out obscenities. Francis just laughed as Arthur started to shake him furiously. Matthew watched the interplay quite amused when his eyes were drawn to the sound of the grand-father clock hitting four.

"Look at the time! Arthur I really believe I should head home. My parents must not be please with me."

Arthur stopped. "Oh that's right. Well, we will be taking our leave now, frog. And I've already told you not to talk like that before! Next time I won't go easy on you!"

Francis chuckled as he helped Matthew out of his seat, causing Arthur to freeze at the act.

"I just thought that Matthew should be the exception, I don't view him as the public."

Matthew blushed flattered with the comment, and Arthur just glared at the man as they made their way for the door. Matthew thanked Francis again for the meal and ran to catch up with Arthur who was marching away without another word.

Francis closed the door behind them and went to window to watch them walked down the street. Pulling from his pocket the red ribbon Matthew wore the night before at the café. He smiled as he brought the material to his lips.

"What an interesting reaction…_Mathieu_."

Outside Matthew turned to get a last look at Bonnefoy's home.

"He is a very nice man."

Arthur let out a gasp of despair. "Please…Don't…"

Matthew laughed at his friend. He let himself think that the next couple weeks will be fun.

Scene .iv

_Miria's Cafe_

Peter was signing a sailing song, while his father held his hand and walked with the cane smiling happily and the boy grinned. The streets were rather empty. As they pulled up to Miria's house.

Peter pulled out on a chain attached around his neck it's the key to Miria's house. She had given it to him, for just in case situations. Peter saw it as the best way to sneak up on the woman and give her a jump. Smirking devilishly he put his hand on the door, it was then he realized it was open.

He pushed it open completely and called out Miria's name. Figuring his father wouldn't be very happy if he tried to sneak in like a criminal. His father walked in after him.

"Miria?"

His deep voice called out throughout the house. No reply.

"That's strange, it's unlike Miria to leave the door open if she's not home." Peter thought out loud, but then smiled. "Maybe she's taking a nap! I'll go and see."

Mr. Kirkland nodded, and decided to sit down, his leg was sore from the walk, they'll have to take a cab home, he decided. Breathing deeply in relief he sat down as Peter ran up the stairs, calling out Miria's name on the way up.

"Miria! My dad said that you shouldn't be giving me so much money! Miria?"

Mr. Kirkland heard his son's footsteps stop after the sound of a door being opened. The silence was strange, Mr. Kirkland thought briefly.

Before his son started to scream. Jumping to his feet, the father called out his son's name as he ran and limped towards the stair way, his cane discarded.

"Peter! Peter! What's wrong? Peter!"

His son was calling out to him. The sound broke the man's heart, he willed his old legs to move faster.

"DADDY! DADDY!"

He finally made it up the stairs, only for leg to give out on the last step. Tears of frustration stinging on the edge of the man's eyes. He could see Peter, collapsed on his knees holding the door frame, shaking furiously as he continued to scream. Pulling himself up to his knees he grabbed his son and pulled him into his chest. The boy struggled in his hold, as the man tried to sooth his son's panic.

When Peter realized it was his father he wrapped his arms around Mr. Kirkland's neck. Crying and sobbing uncontrollably, clinging as if for dear life. The father let out a sigh of relief, his son wasn't injured, but then something caught his eye.

He looked up into the room and found himself nearly vomiting.

There was blood everywhere, on the walls and soaked into the bed. A headless body was discarded on the ground, chunks of the spinal bones could be seen. The head... it was torn off. Mr. Kirkland's eyes went wide with realization. It wasn't a clean cut. _Something_ ripped the head off by sheer force. Is there someone that strong? The smell, it was strong, the metallic scent of blood rusting. It must have happened last night...

Hearing another choked sob, he snapped out of his shocked trance. He needed to get Peter out of here. He was still crying uncontrollably, speaking in between breaths about wanting to leave, to go home to Arthur and Mother. Mr. Kirkland swallowed as the pain in his leg returned in full force, but John Kirkland forced himself to a stand all while carrying his son. The leg cried out in protest, the man broke into sweat.

"It's OK, Peter you're alright, we're going home now. Don't look over my shoulder...OK, Peter? Keep your face in my chest, that's a good boy..."

He grunted with pain as he started to walk slowly down the stairs, the boy was heavy, his leg hurt, but he couldn't let himself fall. As he reached the last step, he saw Dodger at the doorway.

"What happened?" The man ran to them. Worry etched onto his face. Mr. Kirkland suddenly felt a sob rise in his throat. He leaned against the wall, blocking the way upstairs. Dodger's confusion was apparent on his face, but before he could talk, Mr. Kirkland spoke.

"Dodger...My friend. Go call the authorities...Now."

Another man showed up in the doorway. A soldier. The authorities had arrived right on time much to Mr. Kirkland's dismay. Dodger waited for his friend to move.

"John...Let us through." The soldier went up to them, standing behind Dodger waiting for the path to be clear.

John Kirkland, felt overwhelmed by tears, he didn't want his friend to see his precious sister-in-law in that state. But his leg gave out. Peter gave a yelp of surprise as his father fell to his knees, still holding him.

The soldier and Dodger ran up the stairs.

Peter face's was completely flushed from his tears, his voice coarse as he started to hiccough.

"Dad...was that Miria?"

Mr. Kirkland's body was shaking as he held the boy close. Peter could feel his father's nod. The tears welled up again in the boy's eyes, but he tried his best not to let them fall –it was his father's turn to cry now.

Peter closed his eyes, the image of the face on the bed, the blond hair stained with red...

He imagined that instead of the terrified wide eyes, that the mouth that was open in shock, that the fear on her face –was all actually a serene happy look. Happy to be joining her husband in heaven.

He imagined that Miria was happy with Isaac.

But for now Peter cried silently, he would never hear Miria's laughter again. And that more than anything, more than the body lying on the floor discarded carelessly, depressed him the most.

* * *

Translations:

_Où suis-je? -Where am I?_

_L'homme de tes rêves –The man of your dreams_

_Non –No_

_Qu'est ce que vous faites la? –What are you doing here?_

_la France – from France_

_Magnifique portrait, non? – Beautiful portrait, you agree?_

_Quand êtes-vous poses? – When did you pose?_

_Juste avant sa décesse. – Just before her passing._

_Mes condoléances … – my condolences._

_Merci Mathieu – Thank you Matthew_

_Oui – Yes_

_Mon cher – My dear_

_Avec la famille royale. __Mais, - With the royal family, but_

_moi – me._

Oh dear the angst. How diabolical~ 3

OK I got SORT of Lazy with revising this chapter. Give me a break please. . Actually don't whip me into shape my dear Hetalia community~! TT_TT

But yay! Reviews! They really make my day! 3 3 3 I will reply to your reviews, I'm just falling a bit behind and I'm short on time! Hope you enjoyed this update!

**I really don't know what to write as the summary, eh? It's like I don't want to give away the plot and stuff so. . Any suggestions! We can make it a miny-contest or something a good suggestion gets the next chapter early? XD the summary just needs to be along the line sit is now. Oh and if you like my summary just tell me so, I never know what to think. XP

Thanks for the favs and alerts and thanks to Panda3035, zero434, PimpinSushi (yes master! XD), and winterdarknessXD for the reviews~! (I don't think I've forgotten anyone) And thanks and apologies to all of my old fans for the reviews and favs and story alerts! I'm back by the way! The story will be finished! XD


	4. Act 4: Arthur Kirkland

_Disclaimer_: I do not own Hetalia...yet. Bwahahahahaha! *shot* …sorry. I won't ever own it. Please don't shoot me again! xD

* * *

Act Four

Arthur Kirkland

Scene .i

_In the streets of London_

The sun had disappeared completely over the horizon. The streets were busy, the lamplighters were busy at work and the horses' hooves sounded metal clinking against each other with each falling footsteps. The sky was eerily cloudy and the moon came and left on its own accord, as if it didn't want to see the world beneath her.

A man rested against a clean patch of wall. He could smell the rain that would soon fall. His purple eyes rested happily on the building opposite of him. People stood about in a way that could only mean they were gathered around a grave. He watched a man sit on the sidewalk, as well as the boy standing sombrely behind him. Ivan Braginski decided to rest his attention on the two.

Another man joined them, this one leaned heavily on his cane. A soldier aided him on his walk towards the two. Ivan didn't even pause to wonder that if he was human he wouldn't be able to hear their conversation; he just knew that he _could_. Their voices were clear, since Ivan was easily able to block the rest of the world out.

"Dodger..." The man with the cane began. "Peter and I should go. Diana is waiting...but if you wish for me to return I can do so, old friend."

The man they called Dodger sat on the bench holding his face with old hands, he leaned over his knees. His body expression was that of pure agony, the Russian mused. With the street lights, you could see the sweat beading off his bare arms. The oil in his hair, an invisible weight on his shoulders. After a moment, he lifted his face. Markings of his hands stayed on his face which was red with fresh tears.

"...No, John. I... I too need to go home, Nancy is worried, she knows, but she's waiting for me..."

He took a deep breath, shuddering as the cold night air surrounded him, it forced him to take another shaky breath and then another. His hands started to shake it only stopped when the boy, Peter placed his own hand softly on Dodger's shoulder.

"...Am I allowed to ask of you a favour?"

Peter thought the question was directed at him so he spoke out.

"Of course!"

The unwavering determination in Peter's eyes almost made the man smiled, almost, it came out more like a twitch.

"...I have Miria's will... Can I leave you to handle it?"

Peter turned and looked at John, the man Ivan presumed to be the boy's father. The boy's eyes widen when he saw his father's eyes reddening. He didn't reply, instead only nodded and then looked at his son.

"Peter we'll be going now."

John nodded to the soldier, meaning that he could stand on his own. And so the soldier left to et a cab ready for the father and son. Peter rushed to his father's side. He placed his hand into his father's seeking that physical source of comfort humans tend to look for in moments like these. Dodger got up to his feet. To the two he seemed strangely stable, he didn't waver nor did he stumble as he walked down the street towards his home.

"...Mr. Dodger...really liked Miria, father. Isn't there anything we can do to help him?"

Peter asked his father, his lips pressed together, he had calmed down after shedding all of his tears. It helped that he tried not to think of the desecrated body upstairs. He felt his father shake. The motion made Peter step towards protectively hugging his father in comfort.

"Father...Miria is happy where she is but...We need to find her killer, because we're not happy that she's gone."

The truth in his words shocked both the boy's father and the eavesdropper from across the street. Ivan smirked. Children were such intriguing creatures. Many of them are nuisances, but many tend to surprise people with their simple logic, their simple thoughts and their obvious answers.

Ivan memorized Peter's face and name, deciding then and there that this boy is worth a visit in the nearby future. He lifted himself up from the wall, quickly merging in with the dispersed crowd. His height went unnoticed –no it was his presence in entirety that went unnoticed. As if he willed it.

No one saw the man or the sadistic smile on his face, as he laughed silently to himself.

Scene .ii

_The Williams family London estate_

After having spent the afternoon with Francis, Matthew and Arthur had decided to go to the Williams home. Mrs. Williams greeted the Englishman enthusiastically; she glared at Matthew but he quickly apologized to his mother.

"_Pardon, maman_."

The beautiful woman smiled softly and kissed her son on both cheeks. That was enough for him to know that he was forgiven. Smiling shyly he went and greeted his father in the living room.

"Ah Matthew, had fun last night, eh?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry about all that." They kissed each other's cheeks in a friendly greeting. The British not being used to that kind of greeting at all outside of Francis Bonnefoy blushed a bit when Mr. Williams beamed at him.

"Arthur my boy! How have you been?" Arthur was infinitely relieved that Mr. Williams extended his arm to shake hands. Arthur took it and smiled at the old man.

"I've been quite well, thank you Mr. Williams."

The man laughed kind-heartedly. "You're a grown man now Arthur, If you won't call me Stephan, you can at least drop the "Mister" -I feel old enough as it is!"

Arthur nodded. They all sat down and spoke a bit about current affairs, when Mrs. Williams walked in holding a tray, Arthur could immediately tell that it was tea and perked up.

"Here you are." It looked like she was going to add something but stopped suddenly. Arthur noticed and enquired about it when she left the room.

"Oh, maman is trying to drop her French, she's preparing for the diner event she's hosting here, she doesn't want to offend anyone by speaking her native tongue." _Which I think is silly. _Matthew kept that bit to himself.

Arthur nodded in understanding, while Mr. Williams added. "And you are more than welcome to attend of course, I've already sent your father an invitation."

"_You've_ already sent him an invitation?" Mrs. Williams appeared once again in the doorway, a smug look on her face as she walked over to her husband. She bent down and kissed the top of her husband's head then handed him an envelope. He flushed, and seemed flabbergasted, as if he hadn't expected his wife's reappearance so soon. "Well-um, yes I mean you've sent the invitations, darling. It's in your handwriting and everything." He turned to Arthur. "Have you seen my wife's handwriting? She has wonderful calligraphy and-"

She tapped her husband on the head with an envelope.

"Alright that's enough Stephan. I forgive you. Now-" She handed him the envelope. "I believe you should read this...It's from our cousin Alfred."

The air seemed to change by the power of the single name. Arthur looked at the Canadian family attentively and most particularly Matthew who had sighed rather loudly. He looked crestfallen as he spoke to his father.

"What does it say? Please don't let it be what I think it is..."

Mr. Williams read the letter quickly, especially so since the cousin in question is a brief young man, who rushed through everything including letters. The man sighed when he finished.

"He's coming to England to visit us and the sites." Mr. Williams paused as a grimace takes place on his face. "And he writes that he would be here in the week that follows this letter." Matthew groaned and his mother wasn't sure whether she should scold him or not for doing so.

"I'm sorry." Arthur could no longer hold back. "But may I enquire who this cousin is?"

He couldn't recall anything about Matthew's extended family, except his grandfather, but that was because he moved to England and died here. Arthur had even attended the old man's funeral.

Matthew replied with an exasperated tone, surprising the Englishman.

"Alfred F. Jones, he isn't my cousin he's actually my cousin once removed or something, he's my _maman'_s cousin's son. An American. To sum up why we aren't very happy." Arthur's eyes widened he did know that the Williams had American relatives. "And he's probably not here to visit us. He hates us!"

To this Mrs. Williams interjected. "_Mais non!_ He doesn't hate us, _chérie_. It's just that...He's an enthusiastic patriot..."

"And enthusiastic patriots hate loyalists..." Mr. Williams looked away to dodge his wife's glare.

Matthew nodded in agreement. He looked back to Arthur and added.

"Alfred is obnoxious, like you wouldn't believe. And predictable! He's probably coming up here because he wants to spy on us and see if he can get any information for the impending war."

"Matthew we don't know if there will be a war." Mr. Williams added, though his face said that he thought otherwise.

"It's just as you said father, the patriots hate us loyalists. They want the Britons out of North America."

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room. Arthur wasn't very sure if he should say anything. He was getting a rather bad feeling that something unpleasant was promised in his near future and with this news he wondered if this "cousin's" arrival spelt nothing but disaster.

"Arthur." Stephan broke the silence, startling the Englishman out of his sulk of anxiety. "I know this maybe a lot to ask, but I was rather hoping you could take care of Matthew for the rest of his stay. And obviously we don't want to let Alfred wonder off on his own...Could you perhaps keep an eye on him as well?"

Matthew sighed for his friend, who had replied a yes all too quickly. The Canadian knew just how much Arthur hated babysitting...And Matthew also knew that there's just no way in heaven or in hell that Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones could ever get along.

Scene .iii

_With Arthur Kirkland_

Arthur returned home later that evening on his own, the night having dragged on as he and the Williams family caught up with each other. Opening the door, he was rather surprised to see that his mother was still up. She hadn't waited up for him in years...

"Mum?"

She turned to face him, it was then that he realized that she looked unbelievably frail and saw that her green eyes were watery.

"Oh Arthur!" She stood up awkwardly, rushing towards her son and pushed herself onto him, embracing him. The hug felt foreign, but Arthur was too concerned to question it. She started to weep into his blazer.

"Mother what is the matter?"

"Arthur?"

The young man found it hard to look over his shoulder with his mother clenching onto him, but he knew who called out his name, if the child's voice wasn't indication enough the surprise hug from a small form confirmed it to be Peter.

After a moment Elizabeth Kirkland finally straightened herself up, looking down at Peter, her voice raspy as she scolded (more out of habit) her youngest son.

"Peter, oh my sweetheart, you should be asleep."

Free from his mother's grasp Arthur turned and picked up his little brother, he could feel his trousers were wet from the boy's tears. He looked from one to the other before settling his gaze on his mother as Peter wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck and hid his face.

"What is going on with you two? What happened?"

He demanded to know, he never felt so worried in his life! He was anxious to know why they were both crying, he tried not to let his thoughts wonder away like- where was his father? Were his brothers alright? Did our company burn down? More worries bubbled at the top of his mind, until he heard Peter choke out a reply, but the sobs mumbled them.

"What, pardon?"

The boys' mother drew in a shaky breath; in fact her whole frame was shaking.

"Arthur...Miria was murdered."

His heart stopped as his constricted tightly around the organ and so did the little arms around his neck. Peter lips were at his ears, he was whispering more to himself than to Arthur.

"It was horrible." That jump-started his heart again.

"Did you-?"

"Yes oh dear god! My poor baby!" The woman wailed. "What kind of world is this to have a boy discover the body!" A wave of fresh tears threatened to fall from her eyes. "My baby...My poor baby..." She started rubbing Peter's back and petting his hair it was soothing both to the boy and herself.

The shock of the news was much, but Arthur swallowed his grief. He had to go. He brought his hand up to Peter's head, and ruffled the boy's hair gently and cooed softly. A rare smile was on his lips; it was forced, but even though Peter knew that the smile still comforted him greatly.

"Peter, I'm going now. Someone has to help Father. Can you tell me where he is?"

Mrs. Kirkland shook her head violently, now that wave falling freely. "Oh no you won't go out!" She grabbed his arm, to show her point. "I was already torn with worried, there's a madman on the loose out there Arthur, you didn't hear about what he did to poor Miria! –bless her soul– You are staying here, behind lock doors!" Her voice broke out into near hysterics by the end of her rant.

But Arthur was paying no mind to her, he instead locked gaze with his brother's eyes. The forest green met the sea blue and Peter nodded.

"He's at the company-" He hiccoughed, the boy was a bit annoyed with himself, he hadn't meant to start crying again, but seeing his brother just brought back the tears. It was the mix of the fear of what he had witnessed, the relief for seeing his brother safe and the comfort of being in his brother's presence that was his downfall. "He said he was going to look over Miria's will there. He told us to send you to Francis and pick him up."

Arthur nodded and patted him. "Thank you Peter, you really do have a big heart."

He kissed his mother's forehead; she was too stunned by the open act of affection to stop him from leaving. He smiled as he grabbed and put his hat back on as he opened the front door.

"Lock the doors and sleep together tonight, don't open the door for anyone alright? Father always carries his keys with him. We will be coming back home together. We will have everything in order…" The smile disappears as his tone changed, and his face held a dark look. "And I swear to find the monster that killed our dear friend Miria."

And with that Arthur walked out of the house, Peter stood in the door frame and watched his older brother go.

Peter would never ever admit that he admired his older brother, that he loved him more than anyone else in the world. Peter loved his parents but always Arthur was first. His brother was always there, at every given moment. Arthur was the one to scold him, the one to play with him, the one who taught him right from wrong.

He closed the door and fetched his mother, who shaking barely containing her anger now that her shock had dissipated. He tugged her towards her room upstairs. Reassuring her that Father and Arthur would be alright; that Arthur was the strongest person they knew. That Arthur could take care of himself.

Because Arthur was a hero.

Scene .iv

_Francis Bonnefoy's sitting room_

Francis was a beautiful man; all of his movement were graceful and always appeared planned. Even in the privacy of his own home he never seemed to lose that picturesque ability of his.

He let out a deep sigh as he relaxed back into his seat and stared into his mother's painted eyes. The Italian painter did a magnificent job in capturing her blue orbs; they reflected so many of her emotions that Francis couldn't be sure of what she was thinking of.

The room was dimly lit; a single candle illuminated the portrait while it left Francis to reminiscence in darkness.

Today is his mother's birthday and Francis was never sure what he was supposed to do on this day. This is the second time that it has fallen on a Sunday since her death; every other year when it wasn't he would work and try not to think of her.

It was kind of Arthur to visit, and to bring along the adorable Mathieu. This wasn't the first time the English gentleman has saved him from an abyss of grief. On the last Sunday was the year of her death.

And Arthur Kirkland came and sat with him at his mother's grave.

That was the day when Francis realised he was in love with Arthur. They were thirteen at the time. And it would be 4 years later again on the day before his mother's birthday that Francis would declare his love for the English adolescent.

"So I'll come by to pick you up tomorrow, alright?"

The young Francis felt his breath hitch, he looked at Arthur who looked as he usually did when he was being considerate, embarrassed.

And it clicked. The courage Francis was holding back from himself bubbled over as he felt his emotions rise and escape his throat, taking over his body. He grabbed Arthur's shoulder and caught his green eyes with his own blue ones.

"Arthur…_Je-_, I'm in love with you. I want to spend my life with you."

The silence weighed heavily on the confessor's shoulders. He felt his temples break out into sweat, he just couldn't read the blank look on Arthur's face.

"Don't be an idiot Francis."

And that was the end of that. There was no way for the Frenchman to respond to those clear looking green eyes. There was no hope for Francis that day… So he walked, praying that the tears in his heart would wait until he got home.

But hope did come to Francis, the next morning, with a knock on the door and a familiar face in the doorway, holding a bouquet of lilies.

The blank stare that Francis gave the Englishman caused the later to blush. His green eyes went down to the white flowers, and he pulled the flowers away from France's view to behind his back.

"It's not like they're for you, idiot!" Talking to the Frenchman seemed to only cause Arthur to blush further. "These," He pointed exuberantly at the lilies, "are for Jeanne."

That afternoon he was never so happy to visit his mother's grave. But of course this euphoria didn't last long…

Francis, back in his house chuckled at the memory. Arthur's easily flustered face had the power to cheer up the Frenchman. It was his guilty pleasure. But over the years Francis has come to appreciate the friendship the Englishman would allow in between them. So Francis learned to love others, not in the way he loved Arthur, but in the way of temporary comfort.

Which leads his thoughts to _le petit Canadian_…Maybe that night as he watched Mathieu sleep, he was reminded of Arthur. The feelings that flooded into the Frenchman had been protective and playful; it was easy to treat Mathieu as he would treat Arthur. But after having spoken with him today, Francis was no longer reminded of his first love, not when they were both in front of him. No, instead Mathieu smiled in the nostalgic way of the Frenchman's mother.

And Mathieu's lack of shock at his proclamation surprised the Frenchman all the more. Looking into those violet eyes Francis could only see kindness, and sincerity. It was no wonder that Arthur was protective of the boy, Francis for having known him for such a sort time started to feel the same.

Looking at the red ribbon he had snatched from the Canadian, he corrected himself. No, not protective, but rather possessive. Matthew Williams had a power to entrance those he came in contact with, his childlike features, his purity of heart, his wit…Everything.

Francis breathed in deeply Matthew's scent.

He briefly thought of the two young men walking along side each other.

"Ah…How I would love to eat them both…_Une ménage a trois s'il-vous-plait_~."

A knocking at the door interrupted Francis' musing. He sighed, wondering who it could be at this time of night. The knocking continued on louder, it caused the Frenchman to pause in his seat. He knew only one person who would knock at his door like that. And the fact that he was here at this time of night was not a good sign…

He left his sitting room in a rush. Forgetting to check through the peak hole (since his insides were screaming to him that it was Arthur anyways) he flew open the door and watched the handsome shorter man, his chest rising and falling due to his hast.

But it wasn't only the Frenchman breathing quickly, Arthur's face was flush with a deep scowl settled on his monstrous (_mais bizarement adorable_) eyebrows, his posture tense as he spoke harshly and in between breathes confirming that he did run over to see Francis.

"Francis, I have some terrible news…"

Scene .v

_Out at sea_

"Are you sure you're gonna do this?"

"Yeah, there's nothing to be worried about, just a couple of pricks, oh and the cooking."

The older man laughed and suddenly tackled the younger man, ruffling his blond hair.

"I swear it's that sense of humour that's going to get you hanged'!"

"I am Alfred F. Jones. Do you really think a hero like me can get hanged?"

"Hey ya' ain't no hero yet cheeky kid." The old man laughed and let go of the boy he had worked to do, the wind was good and they were coming into port. He left Alfred standing there, staring out at the mass of land that was Britannia.

He grinned at it, his heart racing.

"When this is over, I will be."

* * *

When I was revising this chapter I couldn't believe how short it was! So I added in what was the opening scene for the next chapter. So people who didn't do as I asked them to would have missed the little FrUK timbits! 3 *dreamy sigh* I do love me some FrUk…And Franada… UKCan… AmeCan…PruCan… But I love RusCan as well! Dammit Canada! Why do I love you with everyone! *3*

Oh well it means I get to write this! XD

**I would like to know which is your favourite pairing for Canada, overall and for what you've read so far in the fic! Please and thank you! Oh and your favourite character~ just cuz I'm curious, mine is Canada by the way if you hadn't noticed yet. XD**

(the last chapter was long but the next chapter is huge folks! (happyz dance)


	5. Act 5: Alfred F Jones

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, I do own this plot though it is mine all mine! BWAHAHAHAHA!*shot* ….I think I already wrote this disclaimer before. .

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Act Five

Alfred F. Jones

Scene .i

_With Matthew Williams_

Matthew had attended many funerals before, it's a commonplace event in this day and age. But he had never attended a funeral in London before, at first the Canadian found himself worry on where they bring the bodies and such he was relieved that Miria's was brought outside the city to a beautiful graveyard out in a field.

It took place on the day after they discovered Miria's body, the casket was closed during the wait. Matthew had heard horrible rumours that he body was completely desecrated. And it was only thanks to a lot of bribery that the undertaker finished cleaning her up so quickly.

He wasn't even sure if he should have attended in the first place since he hadn't known Miria personally and the one time they met he ended up being pissed drunk. But Francis had insisted that Matthew accompany him and Arthur.

"I consider you already _mon ami_ Mathieu. It would be a great console if you accompany me. And if anything it's only right you should since I am stealing away your city guardian _non_?"

Matthew regretted having pushed Francis to smile as if to comfort the Canadian when it was obviously the Frenchman in pain. So Matthew tried his best to be a good friend to Francis during this sad episode.

The funeral went on as only funerals did. Matthew felt like an outsider to the whole ordeal, and left out of everyone's pain. But often he would find tears in his eyes, since the mood was sombre and his close friend Arthur was also in much pain, along with dear Peter and their parents whom Matthew had always felt were his second parents.

"Cheer up lad," Arthur's mother came and petted his face gently. "Miria is a lot better off where she is now, the only reason we cry is because of our own selfishness, you know? So don't go crying because you think we're depressed or anything, alright dearie?"

Just like Arthur, she wasn't very good at comforting people. But what she said stroke a chord within Matthew and that was the only thing he could find himself remembering by the end of the day.

The three men shared a cabby back to the city. Matthew missed the scent of grass and air already as he mounted on after Francis, followed closely by Arthur.

They sat in silence for the first hour. Watching out the window, the sun going down over the horizon turning it purple and blue, it was the colour of Matthew's eyes. Both Francis and Arthur noted to themselves.

"Ummm…Francis, what are you going to do now?" Matthew had been meaning to ask this question for a while now, but the opportunity seemed always to fail to present itself. Miria was the storeowner and with her gone was the Frenchman out of work? Arthur answered his question.

"Francis will continue to run the shop as its new owner."

The Frenchman glared at the Englishman.

"_Et encore, je dis non_, Arthur. I have said this many times already, but I will be selling the shop. "

"You love that shop so you will continue to run it, it's yours. Miria left it for you to run it, not to sell it."

"It is not for you to decide what I do with what Miria has given me."

"It is not like you to disregard a lady's wishes!"

The air was tense, Matthew fidgeted in his seat casting looks to both men, as if it were a tennis match. Swallowing his fear he looked at the torn Frenchman, for a long moment trying to see what Arthur could. Arthur stared at Francis with eyes clearer than either of the other two had ever seen.

"Francis. You and I both know that you would never forgive yourself if you sell that shop that Miria and Isaac spent their lives in. They wanted you to take over to take care of it."

Tears fell from Francis's eyes. His lip quivered as a scowl settled upon his beautiful face. Matthew looked into Francis's face and saw his own. There was a strange similarity in between the two. Matthew switched to sit beside him closely. Pulling out his handkerchief and applying it to Francis's face.

"But Arthur…" Matthew started. "Have you thought it may be too painful to keep the shop?"

Arthur looked attentively at Matthew. He didn't say anything, instead waited for the Canadian to continue.

"Well…" Matthew flushed under the stare his hands falling away from the Frenchman's face. Francis grabbed it and kissed it. He then looked on expectantly at the boy, like Arthur he was waiting to hear what he had to say.

"Arthur…You're an incredibly strong person. To you keeping the shop may seem as the most natural thing to do. But different people have different ways grieve. Perhaps for Francis it would be best to sell the shop…I know if it was me, I probably may not be able to face the ghosts of my memories within that building."

The glare stopped as Arthur let out a deep breath. His posture relaxing into his seat. He smiled at Matthew.

"Don't go calling people strong Matthew. When you're obviously the strongest out of all of us."

Matthew gaped at his childhood friend until he heard a chuckle from Francis who still held Matthew's hand.

"For once _mon ami_, we agree on something."

Matthew shook his head and was about to voice out his disagreement when Francis placed a finger over his lips to silence him.

"_Non_, Mathieu. What Arthur said is true. Men can only dream of being as honest as you. That, to us, is greater proof that you are the strongest among the three of us."

Arthur watched the two in front of him with some discomfort it was a bit to intimate for his liking… Deciding that it needed to be cut short he spoke up.

"So. What will you be doing then Francis? Will you sell the shop and do what?"

Francis had barely registered what Arthur had said he was enraptured by Matthew's eyes. He blinked and then faced the Englishman letting go of Matthew's hand, he instead placed his arms over Matthew's shoulder. Because he knew it would annoy Arthur more than anything.

"I need time to think about it. But thanks to the both of you I feel immensely better. Miria wouldn't want me to mourn for her. Especially since she waited for the day she could be reunited with her Isaac. God rest both of their souls."

A silence settled over the three. It was comfortable. The ride was strangely soothing in its motion. Matthew ended up leaning into Francis and fell into a calm sleep.

Francis smirked at the glaring Englishman.

"It seems the tables have turned."

As a response Arthur kicked Francis' shin, in which Francis tried his best not to react to since he didn't want to wake up the Canadian.

And Arthur laughed at the Frenchman's pained expression. Arthur leaned back into his chair, staring at Matthew sleeping soundly. He secretly wished that moments like this, with the three of them would last forever...

Scene .ii

_In Arthur Kirkland's study_

Arthur Kirkland glared at the clock, this not being unusual since the Briton tended to glare at everything. He honestly just couldn't believe his luck. While taking care of Matthew is not much of a problem, (really it was more of a privilege!) Arthur has always enjoyed the presence of his childhood friend.

_A bit too much maybe?_

He flushed at the question a snarky voice asked in the back of his head. "Preposterous!" He replied out loud. Sure he likes Matthew but no, not ever would –_could_ he like him more than what Matthew was, a friend.

Matthew's shy smile appeared behind the back of his closed eye lids. He jumped out of his chair deciding it was best to get this over with. He had a duty to attend to. His eyebrows were pulled closer together when he remembered the conversation he had with that bloody frog last night.

"It is a shame I cannot come with you tomorrow _mon petit Mathieu_, I would see it as my duty to be as accommodating to your cousin as I am for you!"

Arthur grabbed his hat, cloak, and his great-grandfather's cane, the cabbie was on the street waiting for him. He hated the way Francis glanced at him at all the keywords (such as "duty", as "accommodating" and "for you") actually he pretty much hated the frog on a regular basis. Not like he had much of a choice, the Frenchman practically lived to aggravate him in every possible way!

_Not enjoying their blooming friendship are we?_

Arthur cursed in the passenger seat. The damnable voice was back. He watched the outside of the cab, the rhythmic sound of the horses' shoes soothed him. He sighed and thought how what the voice said was partly true. The Englishman was begrudging the forming friendship between the Canadian and the Frenchman.

Which should be strange, really, thought Arthur, after all Matthew and Francis were some of his dearest if not closest friends. Why should he be unhappy with their friendship? Was he jealous of how famously they get along? Did he feel left out when they started conversing in French and spoke too quickly for him to keep up with them?

Maybe it was a combination of these many things…the British man sighed. He could hear a bell ringing in the distance. The ship is coming to shore. As usual he is right on time.

The cab pulled to a stop. The cabby opened the door for Arthur and he stepped out of the carriage looking as English and polished as ever. A woman in a nearby shop pointed at him and giggled with her friends. Not in the bad manner but in an obviously interested batting their eyes to catch his attention.

He tilted his top hat politely at them and made his way to look for the only he felt like seeing at the moment…

"Arthur!"

The boy called, his blond locks bounced around his face. Arthur couldn't help but glance again at the girls. It was strange that he considered Matthew prettier and more effeminate than them.

"Matthew." He nodded his greeting; they started to walk towards the harbour where men were busy at work unloading a supply ship. Cotton. Then this must be the ship Matthew's cousin was on. "Am I late?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, the ship literally just arrived. But it seems like it's in a rush to leave so the men are all busy at work. They're trying to go back to sea by sunset."

Arthur's eyes widen. Matthew nodded in agreement to Arthur's astonishment.

"I couldn't do it. I'm not very…oh, what do you call it again? Sea-worthy? I couldn't go back out there after having finally reached land."

Arthur looked fondly at the ship. When he was a boy he wanted to go out to sea so badly. In this case this is where the British man and Canadian truly differed. Arthur would definitely call himself sea-worthy.

A loud voice cut through their conversation. Followed by laughter. They reached the boarding plank and had waited there. They saw a mop of blond hair being mobbed by the crew.

"I say we throw this joker overboard!"

"A bit too late for that he'll just swim to land the lucky bastard!"

"Just get of the damn ship Jones! We don't want your fun-loving good humour around here anymore!"

Alfred Franklin Jones emerged from the crowd. He appeared like a fresh breeze in a hot summer. A grin on his face and in his eyes. He boarded the plank with a bag over his shoulder and in his hands.

"Oh I know you'll all miss me! What would you do without your favourite hero around!"

"Get used to not hearing that word every time your mouth opens?"

They all laughed and waved as the 'hero' walked down the makeshift stairs. He walked sideways as he waved goodbye to his friends. As he turned he saw his cousin smiling meekly at him.

For that brief period of time with Alfred's every steps. Matthew realised he had missed his cousin. Despite his obvious negative reaction when he heard that Alfred was coming to England. It was moments like this that made the Canadian appreciate his American counterpart.

There was something about Alfred that was hard not to love.

"Mattie!"

"Al!"

Alfred chucked his bags at Arthur who was caught off guard and dropped the sacks immediately. The two hugged each other. Matthew breathed in Alfred's scent and smelled the sea. And Alfred smelled the mix of lilacs and roses.

Arthur looked away from the display of affection wondering if Matthew really hated his cousin or not.

"It's good to see you Matt!" They held each other at arm's length. Alfred grinning as he examined his cousin. "It's been how long? Two years now since the last dinner? You're finally as tall as me now!"

Matthew laughed gently. "Al, we've always been the same height." Stepping away politely and glanced at Arthur to signal that Matthew would invite him into the conversation.

"Really? I never noticed, but seriously I can swear there's something different about you, if it's not your height then I don't know what!"

He stepped closer to Mattie closing the distance as he threw his arm over his cousins shoulder. He looked over at Arthur who looked a bit surprised, but that surprised was soon turned to anger with the American's next words.

"Hey, you, butler. Could you grab my bags please? We don't want to stay here all day!"

Matthew thought his heart wouldn't start beating again. He pushed the American off of him getting a surprised 'hey' in reply, then grabbed the bags himself and looked at the scowling face of his closest friend.

"Arthur! I'm sorry my cousin is an idiot, he didn't mean to be so rude! It's my fault I should have introduced you sooner, I'm sorry-"

"Why are you apologising to the butler for?"

Matthew wanted to cry with how sad his situation is. _Alfred I hate you…Again._

"Because…" The word was so stressed that it turned into a hiss by the end. Oh, Matthew saw, Arthur's trying to hold back his anger. But there was one thing that Alfred always promised. Another reason to be pushed off the edge. Arthur continued. "I am not-" again another stress "a butler."

Alfred tilted his head. His eyes roaming up and down the Englishman's form. Arthur's eyes were closed as if to block the American out of his sight. What Matthew saw as he too proceeded to look at Arthur as if to see what Alfred saw. Matthew saw beneath the rim of his own hat, a trimly pressed blazer, some accessories to accentuate Arthur's status and shoes that were expensive enough to pay for a weeks' worth of dinner. Not a butler in anyway shape or form. Especially with just the way Arthur held himself, the pride and confidence there was just no way a normal person could have thought that Arthur looked like or was a butler.

"Really?"

Oh yes, Matthew needed the reminder his cousin was far from normal.

Something snapped in the air and Arthur grabbed Alfred's collar. Greens eyes alit with fire, it frightened the Canadian and left the American stunned.

"Sir…I am quite tired of your insolence. If you cannot see my status, perhaps you would like to-"

And he stopped, he looked around him. The crew had stopped working, everyone was staring at them. But they didn't matter; Arthur looked at Matthew, whose violet eyes were alit with concern.

Sighing with annoyance, he started walking towards the cabby.

"Come now Matthew, your family is waiting."

Matthew nodded. But then he turned on his heels and faced the American. Giving his best glare possible, he took the American's bags. Alfred was about to protest, but the Canadian cut him off.

"If you had wanted someone to carry your bags, Alfred. You could have just asked politely."

And he stormed off with the American's things after the Englishman. Alfred scratched his head, a nearby crew member asked if he was alright.

Alfred grinned. "Yeah, but I was hoping to make a better impression with my cousin. But now he's pissed…" He laughed it off and then followed his angry cousin. Watching how he lifted the bags over the cabby. Alfred thought he was looking at a familiar stranger. He couldn't help but wonder where did his cute, helpless little cousin go?

The cab ride was in silence. Alfred was kicking himself with how stupid he acted to make his cousin so angry at him. Arthur was kicking himself for having lost it so easily. But it was Matthew who was kicking himself the most for having let the situation get out of hand.

Scene .iii

The Williams Estate

Alfred was busy unpacking his bags, Matthew's mother had offered to do it, but the American insisted otherwise.

_Besides I need to come up with a way to make it up to Mattie…_

Arthur was grateful that the twat decided to leave them in peace. But the moment Alfred was out of ear-shot Matthew began apologizing frantically.

"Arthur, oh Arthur! I'm sorry! I'm really really sorry! This was all my fault, I should have introduced you right away, it was horrible! I can't ask you to forgive me, but-"

"Matthew!" Arthur cut in, his head was starting to ache from his pent up annoyance, and the mix with this wasn't pleasant. "That's enough, it's not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for."

Matthew hung his head and then mumbled yet another apology. Arthur shook his head and rested his hand on Matthew's shoulder. Trying a smile to reassure the younger man.

"If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me. I was the one who lost it. I let my temper get the best of me. Even though I shouldn't have let allowed it to do so."

Matthew smiled back. "With Alfred, it's easy to lose it." At this the smile fell and Matthew slumped into the sitting room chair. "I was so angry Arthur. I couldn't stand the way he spoke to you."

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. But he tried his best not to show it despite the blush on his face.

"Yes well…" he coughed awkwardly. "It really isn't for you to apologize to me for your cousin."

Matthew gave a half smile. "But I have to. Alfred is not thinking about apologizing to you or to me, but rather a way to 'make up' for it. And on top of that, probably just to me." Matthew sighed and then nodded his head in self-decision. "If he buys me anything I'm going to give it to you."

But before Arthur could argue, Alfred jumped into the room.

"Hey Mattie! Let's go out for dinner just you an' me!"

Matthew sighed, and looked at Arthur with the easy to read I-told-you-so expression. Arthur sighed as well, but quickly composed himself.

"Actually Mr. Jones," Alfred shuddered at the title. "I was going to offer to take you and Matthew out for dinner this evening. I know all the best spots in London, so it would be my pleasure to guide you."

Alfred smiled. "Ok yeah, whatever. But honestly man, please don't call me Mr. Jones. That's my dad, so Jones or Alfred is just fine OK?"

"In England you see, we have manners. Referring to each other by surname is something reserved for friends and family."

At this Alfred grinned. "But we're family man, your name's Arthur right? You call my cousin by his name, so that makes us family no?"

Arthur was about to protest, but Alfred threw his arm over his shoulder in friendly gesture.

"Hey no hard feelings, right?"

Arthur counted backwards from ten. And tried to smile back, _do it for Matthew, do it for Matthew. _

"Of course no-"

Arthur was pulled out of Alfred's grasp, Matthew having pulled the Englishman away. The Canadian glared at his cousin. His jaw tight, the look caught both of them off guard.

"We will go out tomorrow afternoon for lunch. You must be tired from your travels, Alfred-

("Well no," Alfred squeaked, "not really…")

-Please rest for the night, anyways I don't feel much like going out." He turned and smiled calmly at Arthur. "But of course I'll accompany you home Arthur."

And it was final. Matthew didn't want to deal with the two in the same space for another minute that day. Alfred is being sent to his room and Arthur and he will go and meet up with Francis like they had originally planned.

Yes. Perfect.

Except for the fact that Alfred can't read the atmosphere for _shit_.

Matthew hated his life.

"No seriously Matthew, I feel great! I wanna take you out for diner, so let's go!"

Arthur rubbed his temple. He knew what Matthew wanted, but it was going to be impossible. The Canadian was right, the American was predictable. Arthur wouldn't have been surprised if the boy decided to throw a temper tantrum if they tried leaving him behind.

Petting Matthew's back sympathetically he forced another smile.

"Yes, let's just go Matthew. We promised to meet the frog at five and it's already four-twenty."

"Hey who's the frog?"

Matthew sighed and nodded to Arthur. It was obvious Arthur was trying his best, Matthew had no choice but to do so as well. They moved towards the door, Alfred continually asked who was "the frog", while Arthur and Matthew ignored him and conversed.

"I think we should go to the pub afterwards. I need a drink." Matthew told his friend as he put on his hat and coat. Arthur nodded in agreement.

"I need one as well. Hopefully the alcohol will loosen us up for the better."

"Unlikely, but who knows, eh?" The two chuckled.

"Hey, what are you guys laughing about? But seriously what's up with the frog!"

Scene .iv

_Francis Bonnefoy's home_

Much to the American's astonishment, they did meet up with a frog. Alfred found his feelings resembling much like the Englishman's for the Frenchman. When they met with the blond haired man, he immediately greeted Matthew with kisses. And then shook Alfred's hand in greeting.

"Oh you do look alike, but I would have to say Mathieu is cuter. Don't you agree mon ami?" He tilted his head at an annoyed looking Englishman.

"Bloody pervert." Arthur whacked Francis away from the smiling Canadian. These two bickering was relaxing compared to Alfred's stupidity.

Francis laughed, taking the Canadian's arm, he led them inside his home. Matthew was grateful for Francis presence. The man had a way to soothe over problems and relax him.

The moment they walked into the sitting room. Alfred exclaimed. "Hey who's the babe?"

"That would be my mother." Francis smiled good-humouredly, to which Alfred exclaimed his surprise with some vulgarity. "Shit man, she's hot!" Arthur was about to slap the kid over the head, but they hadn't known each other long enough for him to feel that it was right to do so. Instead he face palmed himself, suppressing a groan of frustration.

They ate supper together. Matthew complimented once again Francis' cooking. To which Alfred commented that food was just food. As a response he received a surprised look from the other three. The French (and half French) ones looked slightly appalled, while the Englishman secretly agreed.

After supper Arthur suggested going to his favourite pub, which was nearby. Francis agreed.

"Maybe I'll get lucky tonight, _oui_~?" Arthur choked on air. Matthew tilted his head in confusion and Alfred was bored.

On their walk they passed by an old man, who collapsed in front of them. A cool look was on Arthur's face. Matthew stepped forward in concern but Alfred jumped to the man's aid. Helping him up to his feet.

"You alright old man?"

"Why thanks' to ya gov, im alrit' me thinks'…" He wavered but Alfred kept him up. "Thanks 'gain govenor, I'll best be on me' ways now." And he let go of Alfred and started to walk towards the way they came.

Arthur stared hard at the old man. Alfred smiled feeling satisfied until all three men gasped as Arthur extended his cane and tripped the man. Pinning him down by using his foot on the old man's back, the cane on the man's head.

"What the hell man!" Alfred exclaimed. He was about to jump Arthur when Francis stopped him. Matthew stepped closer to his friend, tilting his head in apparent concern.

"I believe you have something that belongs to us."

The old man twisted his head around to look at Arthur; his nose was bleeding as he had fallen face first on the stoned path. His eyes went wide as he recognized Arthur.

"Mis-mis-Mister Kirkland fancy seein' you', your' honour here?" The panic and edge in his voice caught Alfred's attention. He stopped struggling against Francis' hold. "It's really an honour seein' you again, sir…"

"Enough with your humbling act, hand it over."

The old man bit his lip and looked away nervously. "I-I-I-I don't know wha' you're talkin' about, sir."

Arthur pressed down with his cane, the man hissed with pain and then let out a howl of annoyance.

"Alrit'! Alrit'!" He reached under him and pulled out a sac. Alfred's eyes widened with astonishment he patted his chest for his coat's pocket, exclaiming his shock.

"That's my money pouch! All of my savings are in there!"

Arthur, glaring darkly, snatched it away from the man.

"You're lucky today. If I had time to bother with you, it's straight to the jail house. But if you're ever caught again and I see you in court…" He let the threat hang. The old man swallowed, his brow covered with sweat.

Arthur left him and walked over to Alfred scowling. The American grinned loosely.

"Ummm…Thanks, I guess?"

Arthur held the pouch up with a disapproving look on his face.

"First of all, you don't go rushing off to save dirty old men. At least not without being careful. Second, you do not carry around all of your savings. It's probably the most foolish thing I've ever heard. So-"

He took the pouch and placed it in his coat pocket. Alfred's face was in dismay.

"I will keep this safe for you. Honestly, it's like I'm dealing with a child." He looked round at Matthew who was observing the old man. "Come now Matthew."

Alfred decided for once not to put up a fight. He followed Arthur a smile on his face.

"Yo that cane is lethal! Is there like a hidden sword or something?"

Francis waited for Matthew. The Canadian had walked up to the old man. The man was crying tears of frustration, trying to wipe his bloodied up nose on his sleeve. Matthew knelt down and held out his handkerchief.

"Here use this."

The man glared at Matthew, bitterness was heavy behind it. "Don't need it."

Matthew took the man's wrist and placed the handkerchief in it. The man didn't protest he felt something in the material. Then the young man stood to his feet.

"Buy yourself something to eat, alright?"

The man watched as Matthew joined Francis. He then looked into his palm; inside the expensive looking material was a silver coin. The old man started crying.

Francis shook his head as Matthew fell into pace beside him.

"Mathieu you hadn't needed to do that. You can't go around pitying everyone."

Matthew shook his head. "I disagree with you Francis. I don't see it as pity but more like sympathy. Not everyone in this world can be born with privileges. But those of us who are should learn to spread a bit of happiness and wealth."

Francis cooed. "_Tu es vraiment adorable Mathieu! __Arthur avait tellement raison!_" He ruffled Matthew's hair, the boy protested.

"Wait, Arthur was right about what!"

"Oh nothing _mon cher_!"

"What the bloody hell is the holdup you two?"

"Hahaha! So the gentleman has a potty mouth along with a terrible temper."

Arthur glared at the American. Annoyed that he showed the side he normally reserved only for friends and family. But Alfred's attention returned to the cane.

"But seriously Arthur that thing's awesome! It looks like an antique! Do you know where I can get one?"

Matthew and Francis were standing with them now. Matthew inspected closely the cane, and gasped.

"That's grandpa Kirkland's cane!" Arthur smiled at the Canadian and held it up so the other men could get a better look. He nodded.

"Yes, this was my grandfather's. The cane is kind of a family heirloom. It is one of kind and it was crafted especially for my great grandfather. If you look closely our crest is engraved upon it." He pointed at the metal sphere, and it was there. A lioness stood on its back legs on a plain field, at the top was the royal crown. "It represents our loyalty to the crown."

The air changed slightly as they exchanged looks with the American, Alfred blinked a bit confused at the exchange he grinned.

"That's cool!"

Everyone decided it was best to let it drop. Matthew extended his hand. "Could I hold it?"

Matthew held the black cane, weighing it. "It's heavy."

"Yes, my great grandfather was rather paranoid in his old age they wouldn't let him carry his sword, so he had this cane made instead. You could probably crack open someone's skull with it."

"God I want one of these! Where the hell do you go to get one?"

Alfred whined, Arthur gloated, Matthew's eyes widened in shock and Francis laughed.

They made their way to the pub. And they all had a generally good time. They decided that the next day Arthur would show the North American boys London. Alfred shrugged at the suggestion, but only Matthew noticed. When he inquired about it later when they were alone, on the way back to the Williams Estate, Alfred smiled lopsidedly.

"Well I was just hoping it could be just the two of us you know, for old times' sake."

Matthew didn't know what to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut and wished his cousin a good night. That night in his bed, Matthew slept uneasily. He dreamt of slick black canes that could crack a skull open belonging to his cousin, of Arthur being pulled away from him, a man of great beauty torn apart and lastly of red eyes glowing in the dark belonging to a strange man.

Scene .v

_The William's family kitchen_

The early morning sunlight drifted through the window. It crystalized and broke into different colours. Matthew, entranced with the way it shone, cut his thumb with the cutting knife.

Matthew cursed at his luck. Watching the blood bubble on top of his thumb, he let a string of French swear words that caused his mother to swat him on the back of his head.

"_Eh! On ne parle pas comme cela dans cette maison!"_ It was then that she noticed the cut on his thumb. "Oh! Mathieu! Are you alright?" Mrs. Williams reverted back to English, as she cooed over her only son.

He smiled to reassure her, and then sucked on it, wincing a bit at the metallic taste. "I just cut myself while peeling the potatoes…"

She shook her head, "I told you that you didn't need to help out sweetie, the maids and I have everything under control." Her voice cracked a bit when she uttered the last word. Matthew smiled and kissed her forehead. Breathing in her lilac scent; she still smelled like home, even in this city.

"It doesn't bother me at all _maman_. A man needs to be able to support himself, and peeling a few potatoes is the least I can do to make it up to you."

She just shook her head, mumbling about him being a sweet boy and how bless she was to have him, and went back to the living room to continue the preparations for the party two nights from now.

Matthew sighed as he heard footsteps run down the stairs.

"Mattie! Matt!" The voice stopped yelling as Matthew's mother told the energetic man of Matthew's whereabouts. The very soon to be found cursed his misfortune as the kitchen door was slammed open.

"Matthew what on earth are you doing in here?" Alfred grabbed Matthew (who was clever enough to put the knife and potatoes down) and placed him into a headlock and dragged him out of his sanctuary.

"Why the hell would you be in the kitchen, huh? I mean you're not a girl!" Alfred laughed out loud, recalling a distant memory. "Well you were pretty girly as a kid? I mean my older sisters would drool every time you came over! It was so funny," Matthew didn't think so. Alfred has always been an attention whore, so when the attention of the family would be directed on Matthew, his cousin would drag him away and force Matthew to play with him.

It was annoying since Matthew was never allowed a say in this. They always played tag instead of hide and seek. Since the one time they played with Alfred's siblings, Matthew's mother threw a hissy fit because once Matthew was gone he was down right near impossible to find. Still, it remained the Canadian's favourite game… "…you know I saved you so many times from my sisters' twisted fantasies! Every time mom would tell us you were coming over for a visit, they planned on ways to get you to be their doll! So I'm like your personal hero, huh?"

Matthew got his head out of the head lock, "I didn't mind your sisters, eh? I mean sure the dresses were awkward but it was fun…"

Alfred shot his cousin an estranged look. "…They got you to dress up?"

Matthew nodded hesitantly the last time he was attacked by his female cousins was when he was 13 years old. Alfred was away at boarding school. They all cried when he left them, knowing they could never do it again. Matthew, who couldn't stand watching the dear girls being so torn apart, had agreed to dress up again if they thought a dress would still suit him when he would return, but at this point the Williams and the Jones had cut most if not all ties: the differences in political views separating the two.

And now here they were; Al was pretending as if those years apart, the few stray letters and awkward dinners never happened. In fact Alfred seemed to be trying to be friendlier than he ever was. And it left the patriotic Canadian feeling suspicious, and honestly Matthew hated himself for it. He wished he had a better relationship with his cousin and it seemed unfair that political disputes would tear their family apart.

Matthew and Alfred's mother really adored each other, and it would break their hearts if the two boys couldn't do the same.

Alfred decided to shrug of this whole conversation with one of his classic get-out-of-trouble-free grins. "Oh well! C'mon Matt let's go out! Show me London! Show me what makes these snobbish Brits think there better than us in the New World!"

Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes as he allowed his cousin to drag him to the doorway, stopping there to give Alfred a stern look.

"Alfred. Remember? We have plans already for that, eh? Arthur will show us around London."

Alfred pouted. "I though you said we could go out just the both of us!" Matthew looked at him as if the American had sprouted a second head. "No, when the hell did I say that!"

"When I said that I wanted us to be alone!" his cousin retorted, huffing his chest.

Matthew slapped his own forehead. "No I didn't!"

"Yes you did!"

"No I-ugh! Alfred you're being immature."

The American rolled his eyes. "Let's just go out the two of us, ok Mattie?"

Matthew glared at the American then turned on his heels and walked into the sitting room. Alfred followed, his brows furrowed in puzzlement.

The Canadian sat himself on the auburn coloured seat, placing a leg over the other, his arms crossed over then he looked away from the American.

"Are you…Protesting?"

Alfred waited for an answer but received none. He stared at his cousin. Another minute passed and no words were exchanged. Then Alfred snapped.

"GAH! YOU'RE SUCH A GIRL MATTIE!"

And then ran up to his bedroom to pout.

The Canadian let out a long deep sigh. It was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

OK. Decided that this chapter was long enough as it is. For god's sake I was falling into this kind of despair - "oh god I'll never get to those scenes!" So ending on a rather (fail) comedic note.

So yeah. It wasn't supposed to be this long, but development dictates otherwise. There was supposed to be another scene with Ivan in it but, I was never going to reach it. So this was the best place to cut off. So stay tuned! *twinkle twinkle* but I really did like how it came out…

So yes, by now I guess you've realised it's a Canada centric fic. It's everyone x Canada! YAY!

With slight FrUK and USUK, less the USUK I find though. I don't know for this story it's not really working out so far…But no my original plan was to have everyone be in love with Mattie so yeah. That's what it is! Yay me!

(Canada goes into a corner of despair)

Tehe, Mattie doesn't like being the center of attention.

Oh Alfred pouts. A lot. I dunno I just love it when he pouts, almost as much as I love seeing Arthur get flustered from embarrassment. XD

Reviews make me happy, you could even throw me some tomatoes if you like as a revenge for making you guys wait so long!

BTW Happy dance everyone! The angst is gone for the moment! XDDD

**ARE THERE ANY CHARACTERS YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE APPEAR? 8D**

(omg, my A/Ns are long again!)


	6. Act 6: Arthur and Alfred

Disclaimer: Hetalia is only my anti-depressant, I do not own it. But I do own this plot and I hope you enjoy it!

Act 6

_Arthur Kirkland and Alfred Jones  
_

Scene .i

"Good morning Arthur."

Hanging his hat and coat on the hook Arthur gave a court nod. "Good morning to you as well Matthew. Will you and your cousin be ready to leave soon?"

Matthew laughed nervously. "Well, why don't we have some tea first, eh, Arthur?"

Now if there was one thing the Englishman never turned down was a good spot of tea. So he nodded. The trip to the sitting room was quick, the maid having already set up the tea (at this the Englishman glanced suspiciously at Matthew).

Grimacing a bit when he saw Matthew pour maple syrup into the cup, Arthur inquired.

"Matthew is that really necessary?"

"Yes." The Canadian said without shame. Liking the spoon dry from the syrupy goodness, the act caused Arthur to blush severely, hiding behind his tea cup.

Footsteps raged down the stairs. Alfred appeared at the doorway glaring full force at the Englishman. Matthew sighed and Arthur stared back rather confused. He was pretty sure he had (finally) left the American on a good note the night before…

Alfred's glare intensified after a moment. He was glaring at his rival, the one who was keeping Mattie away from him.

"Alfred."

Matthew interrupted Alfred's chain of thoughts, cocking his head much like a dog would when its name was called. "Yes Mattie?"

Matthew sent a cool glare that sent shivers down both men's spine. Alfred was reminded of cool winter days out in the snow during snow wars; first off the Canadian had killer aim, and was completely resistant to the snow. It was fucking unfair. While Alfred wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers and hibernate for winter the normally shy and passive boy had random boosts of energy and was more excitable than ever.

"Are you ready yet?"

Alfred nodded meekly. Dammit, it was only Matthew who had this effect on him.

"Good." Matthew redirected his attention to Arthur smiling softly. "We're ready now Arthur, thank you for so much for guiding my cousin and I around the city."

Arthur could only nod in response; he and Alfred exchanged a glance. And for a very brief moment the two agreed that Matthew was scary when angered. But Arthur didn't think much of it afterwards, Matthew hasn't been angry with him once yet. And if the Englishman had his way, it would remain so.

Scene .ii

_Downtown London_

Matthew's feeling that the day would be long was so far rather correct. Matthew was trying to fight off an Alfred who was trying to ditch their guide every now and then. Luckily, Arthur was very enthusiastic with showing Matthew the city center (Alfred was considered a tag-along but his presence could be overlooked if one tried hard enough), that he never noticed these strange side matches in between the cousins.

Allowing a compromise with his cousin, Matthew grumbled under his breath. He wished Francis was here. If the Frenchman was here the Canadian would have felt a lot better. His eccentric friend had a way to redirect Alfred and Arthur's attention away from Matthew. But at the moment, he was walking in between the two; Alfred hung his arm rather possessively over his cousin's shoulder, earning a glare from the Brit.

"And here's Parliament."

Matthew nodded. "It reminds me of York."

"New-York?"

"No, York. You know the capital of the dominion of Canada?"

Alfred's face was blank, but Matthew paid it no mind. Arthur meanwhile was still staring disbelievingly at the American. And this more than anything ended up irking him. Like nothing else.

"You have got to be kidding me."

But Matthew patted Arthur's back apologetically. Deciding that it was best to explain to Alfred that there are some things considered common knowledge and that if he wanted to get anywhere in the world he should learn some. Alfred just shrugged it off.

"I know about England. And I know about America that's all that's really important in this day and age."

Matthew kept his mouth shut. Not wanting to let that insult get to him. He considered himself an English-Canadian. Many Canadians thought themselves as Englishmen, but not Matthew. Perhaps it was because his mother was a French-Canadian or the way his father would look out in the vast Canadian horizon with such fondness.

Closing his eyes, he could almost convince himself that he was back home at his country house specifically. The green grass drying up from that morning's dew, the stray deer that would wonder onto their lawn. Matthew chuckled.

"Matthew?"

Arthur looked on the Canadian inquirely, with a tinge of worry. Matthew flashed him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine Arth-"

"Hey Mattie let's go see that monument!"

And he was dragged away by his cousin, Arthur jogging to catch up with the two after a moment of shock. Arthur called after the two of them. But Alfred ploughed through the crowd. Turning sharply he entered a tavern dragging Matthew with him.

Alfred covered Matthew's mouth with his hand, seeing that the Canadian was going to protest.

"Shh! He'll find us!"

_That's the point! _Matthew cursed at his luck. This wasn't his first time being kidnapped by Alfred and annoyingly enough it probably won't be the last. But Matthew didn't enjoy much being a hostage.

He stomped down on Alfred's foot _hard_.

"Ahhh! Fuck, Matt that hurt!"

Matthew ignored his cousin's protest and walked outside, spotting his childhood friend easily he ran up to him.

"Arthur!"

Arthur let out a sigh of relief, smiling back at the Canadian.

"Thank goodness Matthew. I thought for sure that block-headed American made off with you for good."

Matthew laughed a bit. But then Alfred came up to them pouting. Both of them gave the American a disapproving look. He met them with a stubborn glare.

"What?"

Arthur exclaimed in outrage. "Ugh! It's like dealing with a child-"

"Stop calling me that! We're like the same age, right?" Alfred glared at the shorter brit who continued to glare back. Alfred groaned with frustration. "How old are you anyways!"

Arthur replied, "Twenty-three this spring. Technically I shouldn't have graduated from Cambridge but I was able to fit in two years into one. So yes, I am young, but it doesn't mean I act like a child!"

The American's lips were pressed together. He looked at Matthew, and the Canadian knew what Alfred didn't want to say. But Matthew thought it was only polite to return the answer to a question one asks.

"So Alfred," Matthew smiled gleefully, and the American had the sudden urge to kick his cousin on the shin. "What about you, eh?"

Arthur turned his head and looked up expectantly at the American. It was fun to watch him squirm. The truth was Matthew had already told the British man how old his cousin was. In all seriousness, Arthur didn't believe that age had much worth, but if age was going to be used in his advantage then why the hell not?

"Yes," Arthur tilted his head, "What about you?"

Alfred was busy glaring at his cousin when he snapped his attention back to the Englishman. Realizing then how close they were physically he took a step back and mumbled. A bad habit of his, Arthur had quickly recognized when the American wanted to avoid answering a question.

Arthur smirked, _Ah teasing is a wonderful thing~_

But then the smirk disappeared when he realised that he sounded awfully like a certain Frenchman.

"Sorry what did you say?"

Matthew as well, was truly enjoying this moment.

"…seven'teen…"

But glaring at the two older men he pointed at them accusingly. "But my birthday is coming up soon!"

Matthew shook his head. "Not it's not it's in the summer."

"That's soon I tell you!"

The Canadian and Englishman laughed at the American. But for the rest of the day, Alfred was sulking, not that Matthew or Arthur minded really, the two were able to discuss things at peace.

Until finally the American snapped. Just like Matthew had forewarned Arthur. Alfred glared at his older cousin and once again pointed accusingly at him.

"Why is it that when I do the silent thing nothing happens!"

Matthew sighed and for once didn't feel like teasing his cousin anymore that day. He felt bad, really. It wasn't very nice of him, even though Alfred had deserved it and more. (Especially after the whole trying to ditch Arthur on multiple occasions plus the almost successful kidnapping.)

"Alright Al, I'm sorry, honest."

And then Alfred turned his pout in the Briton's direction. Arthur's eyes went wide.

"Hey I'm still waiting for your apology. Do not expect one from me."

"But you started this fight!"

"You _insulted_ me not two days ago! Of course I'm going to feel irate at this whole situation!"

The two did another glare off. And Matthew sighed, alright in truth this whole thing was his fault. So he was going to take responsibility for it one way or another.

"At this point you both have a low maturity level…"

At first they hadn't even realised he had spoken, Matthew's voice was so low, because well he wasn't sure if the comment should be said out loud. But being ignored irked the Canadian so he repeated, stronger and less hesitant. It caught both men's attention; the two turned their heads in shock in Matthew's direction.

"Matthew?" Arthur looked on with a hint of despair.

"Mattie…" Alfred did not like where this was going.

"If you two cannot forgive each other, then the least you can do is forget. It's because of people like you that pointless wars are fought!"

On a regular day Arthur would have retorted back that there was no such thing as a pointless war, but couldn't fumble out the words over his shock at being spoken to in such a manner by his normally passive friend.

"And honestly you're both wrong! I'm the one who needs to apologize if it wasn't for my carelessness you wouldn't have had such a bad first impression on each other! If it wasn't for me the two of you might have gotten along well!"

Alfred and Arthur exchanged looks. They couldn't stand seeing Matthew like this, and suddenly in that moment of exchange they both realised that they shared one common interest.

Matthew Williams.

Who was continuing his rant that was going unheard by the two. Alfred grabbed his cousin's shoulder and tried for a smile.

"Sorry Matt, I know you're in your aggressive stage now but I want you to see this."

Arthur tilted his head and backed away a bit from apprehension as the American approached and stood in front of him, taking a deep breath.

"W-what?"

"I'm sorry for being so rude the other day! It was completely irresponsible of me! Especially since then I didn't know what kind of person you were and stuff…"

He let the last sentence hang in the air, now he looked flustered and not sure what to say.

"Well I mean, it was the first time we met and I guess I was acting like what did you call me? A "prat"? Or some stupid British term like that. Well anyways I was being a complete jerk to someone I had never even met before and yeah."

And that was that. The end of Alfred's apology, and Matthew really wouldn't have been surprised if it was his last apology to boot.

In all honesty Matthew was probably a lot more surprised than Arthur, who just blinked a couple of times. The Canadian had gone into full blown shock. But after a moment he regained his senses and smiled.

Like really smiled.

And that was when the Englishman muttered. "I forgive you, and I'm sorry about that day and today as well."

Alfred clapped his arms over both of the men's shoulders. "OK now that that's over with, let's go and meet up with Francis!"

It wasn't going to be another five minutes until the Englishman and the American broke into another argument, about shoelaces.

Matthew really just wanted to hit his head on the wall.

They quarrelled the whole way to Francis's house. Matthew was ready to throw a gasket, but seeing the Frenchman's usual smile cooled him off.

"Francis!" They extended their arms and hugged each other. Matthew staying an extra moment longer whispering into the older man's ear. "Please save me." Francis was only happy to comply.

"_Bien sûr chérie_. Alfred!" HE exclaimed and extended his arms to hug the American as well, while Alfred was normally one for friendly bodily contact he couldn't help but feel rather wary around Francis.

So he extended his hand for a shake. The clever Frenchman used that hand to pull him in for the unwanted hug. Causing the American to stutter and blush. Arthur wanted to laugh maniacally. Sometimes being friends with a pervert had its benefits.

Matthew did laugh quietly at the expression on his cousin's face. Turning his head he looked up at the sky.

_Wow…It's beautiful._

He smiled at the sun setting over the silhouetted buildings. The red faded into a soft orange, Matthew turned to look at the other end of the horizon. Midnight blue crept up and met at the top of the sky. It was reassuring, that even such a place could have a perfect moment like this.

"Matthew come on, I need a drink!" Arthur called. The Canadian in his stupor was left behind by the other three. Matthew ran up to them with a grin on his face.

"Arthur if I didn't know any better I would say you were an alcoholic."

"_Mon cher,_ you don't know any better because Arthur is an alcoholic."

"Shut up frog."

Scene .iii

"You two go on ahead. I have something I would like to discuss with Mathieu."

Arthur and Alfred both immediately cast the Frenchman suspicious glares. Matthew shooed them away. "Go ahead, We'll meet up with you in a bit, eh."

The two begrudgingly looked at each other and went on ahead of them both, neither of them wanted to try Matthew's patience again that day.

They walked to the end of the street, out of ear shot of the private conversation. But Alfred got quickly bored.

"Let's just go on ahead to the bar."

"No, we will wait here for Matthew. Honestly I can't leave those two alone and out of my sight."

"You're annoying."

"What happened to the truce we had today?"

"We were just arguing. The truce kind of broke when I looked at your face."

Arthur glared at the American, who turned on his heels and started walking away. Arthur cussed under his breath. He looked back at Matthew and Francis. He really didn't want to leave the Frenchman alone with the Canadian.

Alfred kicked a stray pebble. He was irritated. That Englishman irritated him. But what was the most irritating was the fact that Matthew was always on Arthur's side. So not fair. He looked up the road the light from the lamppost proving to be a decent distraction…

It was strange, he just walked by an alleyway and his whole body went on full alert. Not a coward, Alfred turned and walked back towards the dimly lit alley, a familiar voice in the back of his head was yelling at him, it kind of sounded like that English bastard…

His eyes adjusted, as a strange noise creeped up into his ears. He was somehow able to hear a strange slurping noise over the frantic beating of his heart. Alfred fought against panic, he never felt this way before, _what the hell?_ _Is it some sort of –_

He swallowed as the slurping stopped.

_Ghost?_

The American has always had an irrational fear of the supernatural, stories from war ghosts still fighting in battlefields, witches, and angered spirits lingering for revenge has haunted him in his childhood. And to this day he completely blamed Matthew and his ghost-story-telling abilities for it.

The slurping was replaced by heavy breathing.

Alfred could see the outline of the grotesque scene. A man was hunched over a body. Blood pooled around the dead man's form, staining everything in its reach. The living man's body was tense, realizing that it was being watched.

The American found himself completely incapable of moving, he was losing to panic, and the battle inside him shot down all of his physical functions, the only things he seemed able to manage was breathing and standing.

His knees nearly buckled when red eyes, _glowing red eyes,_ snapped up to look at him.

The man sat up straight letting the body fall to the pavement in front of him. It was only then that Alfred realize the head of the body was missing. The man stepped towards the American, eyes locked on each other; Alfred couldn't take a step back, even though every fibre of his being screamed at him to get out of there, but he just couldn't.

He cursed his fate; _I'm in a fucking trance_!

The man was closer now. He stood a whole head taller than Alfred, never once felt short, but now the light from the street illuminated the man's face so Alfred could properly distinguish him from the darkness.

Light, really light coloured hair…And eyes, the eyes were still glowing in that devilish red colour, but now they matched with his clothes and face which was covered in blood. The madman's chin dripped with the thick substance.

Out of nowhere the man grabbed Alfred's arm. At this point the young man was petrified; he couldn't even breathe let alone move. The man's face inched closer, the metallic scent of blood was heavy and it pierced Alfred's nostrils, and it nearly caused his gag reflex to go.

He realised that the man wasn't looking at his face but at his neck the man spoke in a slurry foreign accent, his voice dripping with the dead's blood and an unquenchable thirst.

"…I told you to pray…"

Alfred could feel hot breath on his neck, his eyes started to flutter close against his will.

_Fuck-Fuck-Fuck-Fuck-!_

Alfred was pushed away from the man; the shock of a new head in front of his vision broke whatever trance was over him.

"Excuse me, sir, but I believe this is my responsibility you've come across."

Arthur Kirkland spoke in that ridiculously refined manner to the madman, who jumped away as Arthur's torch light shone brightly in his face. The black cane separated the two.

The bloodied man stepped away glaring furiously at the two. But his glare lingered longer on Alfred, only when a strange realization hit his still-glowing red eyes did he backed away back into the alley and ran.

Suddenly Alfred had to urge to run after the murderer but Arthur's raised arm stopped him.

"It's a dead end."

He answered before the American could start another argument. The two stood there for another minute, an officer had come to join them; spotting the body he ran and fetched more officers on duty.

"Stay here." Arthur ordered as he stepped into the alley way, but Alfred grabbed his shoulder an incredulous look spread across his face.

"You can't be serious Arty! The hell do you think you can do against that monster!"

Alfred had been staring at the mutilated body a lot more than he should have, but Arthur's glare in response was a lot more than the American would have bargained for.

"A lot more than you obviously. And don't you dare take that tone with me boy, I can goddamn well take care of myself, I don't need a _child_ to tell me what to do."

It was the second time that day the American was reminded of their age gap. And just like the first time, he wasn't happy about it at all.

Arthur watched as the American glared back at him. Sighing he tried a smile.

"Alright I apologize for my behaviour. But I need you to stand guard here Alfred. We will live through this and I'll show you why I have no fear." Arthur didn't wait for Alfred's response, armed with his grandfather's cane and torchlight he ran down the alley. Alfred called after him but didn't follow.

A quick glance at the body stopped his steps. And once again he felt the need to gag. The pitter patter of footsteps suddenly surrounded him. It was a troop of officers, one of the younger one, Alfred's age, actually vomit at the sight. Many of them looked queasy.

A few of the officers followed down the alley, Alfred informing them that Arthur was there with the murderer.

"You can't mix them up. Arthur is short while the madman is a whole head taller than me."

Eventually a whole crowd gathered around more troops arrived and tried to keep the crowd away from the body. Alfred gave up his coat to cover the poor bastard. No man deserved to be on display like this…

"Al!"

Alfred turned his head around, smiling with relief. "Mattie!" Matthew looked over Alfred and saw that he was fine. The violet eyes wide with worry, Francis pulled up beside him.

"Where's Arthur?" Matthew asked, Alfred's eyes glanced quickly back to the alley and Matthew exclaimed. "Isn't that where the madman is!" And he pushed by Alfred but both his cousin and Francis grabbed hold of him.

"Where the hell do you think you're going Mattie!"

"_Mathieu calme-toi_!"

Matthew tried shaking them off, yelling in their grasp.

"Let go I need to go help Arthur!" He turned an accusing glare at his cousin. "You let him go off on his own?"

"Hey there are some soldiers in there too!"

Matthew ignored his cousin and was nearly freed from their grasp, (surprising especially the Frenchman since he, unlike Alfred, never had the chance to wrestle against the Canadian) when a familiar voice caused him to pause in his struggle.

"Matthew would you please calm down?"

The two men let go of the Canadian with a sigh of relief. The Englishman stood in front of them all in one piece with his familiar scowl of disapproval. But Matthew didn't care, he rushed and embraced Arthur, who blushed and stuttered as the Canadian did so.

"Wh-Wh-What!"

Matthew hugged him harder, whispering softly it was then that the Englishman realised that the Canadian was crying from relief.

"I'm so glad you're alright…"

He stepped back and wiped the tears from his eyes, laughing as he did so, he mumbled an apology. Arthur was red in the face and so was Alfred as he huffed and stomped to stand in between his cousin and the Englishman.

"Hey, I was the one that nearly got my head ripped off!"

"Ohhhh…?" Francis appeared leaning his arm on the America's shoulder, looking honestly amazed. Too honest. Alfred gave Francis a flat stare.

"What you don't believe me?"

"No I just find it amusing how you wish to sway Matthew's attention towards yourself."

Arthur responded for the American. "We could say the same thing about you frog." But the Frenchman only chuckled as he threw his arms over the Canadian.

"You see _mes amis_. I don't need to sway anyone's attention." Holding the Canadian's chin up, he smiled seductively. "I capture it."

"Eh?"

Francis was shoved away from Matthew and the Canadian blinked as he found himself surrounded by both the American and the Englishman. He thought to himself.

_I really can't keep up with them sometimes, weren't we talking about the murder!_

Matthew turned his eyes on the covered body. A couple of the guards from the alley appeared and told everyone to return to their homes. While the officers questioned both Arthur and Alfred, Francis and Matthew stood off to the side.

"We'll be sure to have them tell us everything in excruciating detail, Mathieu, so please stop fidgeting. I am getting nervous just by looking at you!"

Matthew shook his head, as if to try and calm his nerves. Rubbing his arm, he apologized to the Frenchman.

"I'm sorry Francis. It's just that this whole thing. It's giving me a bad feeling."

A sorrowful smile graced Francis's features and the Canadian gasped.

"_Moi aussi, Mathieu. Moi aussi_…"

Matthew now wanted to bang his head against the wall but instead, he wrapped his arms around Francis. A wave of tears of guilt suddenly falling from his eyes.

"I'm sorry Francis!" He sniffed inside the man's coat. An outrageous sound came out of Alfred's mouth.

"What the hell is this Mattie? You're giving everyone hugs? I'm you cousin!"

Matthew laughed at his cousin, but then glanced back at the Frenchman, who ruffled his hair softly.

"_Merci mon ange_."

Matthew nodded. Wiping away a stray tear, he smiled at his friends.

"Let's call it a night, eh? Everyone must be exhausted."

They nodded their agreements, and started to walk back together, deciding to drop off the two young men fist and Francis and Arthur to accompany each other home by cabbie. Glancing back at the scene of the crime Matthew froze.

There he was, Ivan Braginski, Matthew could recognize the man's physique a mile away. The man nodded to Matthew, and the Canadian tried a smile and he waved at the man. Turning around he caught up with his friends deciding not to comment about the stranger.

He felt like he couldn't anyways.

Not when the Russian's eyes were still on him.

* * *

OK. I'm sorry about this chapter. It's actual crap. But there's a reason for this. The last scene with Ivan and Alfred I had written like three months ago, before the chapter before this one was written. So I had major writer's block throughout this thing and cramped so hard at some parts. *is annoyed*

Actually I'm really disappointed. But the good news now is that ball is finally let loose. SHIT IS GOING TO HIT THE FAN SOON FOLKS. STICK AROUND FOR THE FIREWORKS!

Oh and there's lots of Ivan and a couple of people that some of you guys requested to see finally appear~ XD

But the next chapter is really the shit is being thrown so, the hitting the fan will happen after. *shot* So if you had managed to survive this far I can say that we're almost to the half way mark! YAY!

Reviews are greatly appreciated. I'm grateful to receive all kind of thoughts and opinions. (I'm sorry if this chapter was boring as well, especially at the beggining. *bows*)


	7. Act 7: Natalia Arlovskaya

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, no matter how much I love them, I never will. But I do own this plot~ *does happy dance*

On a Random note I joined a Hetalia RP. I'm France! XD

* * *

Bullets With Butterfly Wings

Act 7

**Natalia ****Arlovskaya**

Scene .i

_With Ivan_

He waved. The damnable boy waved. Ivan found out that laughter was foreign in his throat. It was unbelievable except that it happened. But the Russian knew that the next time Matthew Williams would see him again the boy would know.

That meant, the boy would fall right into his hands.

Ivan Braginski's mouth went dry. He could see it, the light disappearing slowly from Matthew's eyes as the last shuddering breath left his body. He would become heavier in his arms as he goes limp. His eyes shut closed never to reveal the mauve colour again.

In death Matthew Williams would be beautiful.

But Ivan wasn't laughing anymore.

After a couple of days, any signs of life would evaporate from the body. When looking at it, one would not see Matthew Williams, but a familiar stranger. Because everything that made the Canadian what he was is found in life. The life Ivan would be responsible for destroying.

The life he will be responsible for killing.

His thirst for the boy was strong, he wanted to drink the boy into oblivion, but at the same time bask in the light the boy radiated forever.

It wasn't fair.

Ivan thought bitterly back to his Matvey's companions.

It wasn't fair.

But the Russian had learned this years ago.

Ivan lifted his head and he couldn't help but chuckle. It has been a long time since he had wondered aimlessly. It was a very human thing to do. And then he laughed more darkly than before. An early worker walked right past him, a shivered severely, the man looked round his shoulder. But he couldn't notice the Russian. For Ivan willed it to be so.

That's right. He wasn't human.

Humans.

_A woman smiling gently._

_A beautiful girl._

_A boy covered with his own blood._

Ivan didn't care much for humans.

Scene .ii

_Paris, France_

"_I don't like it here. It's dirty."_

"_Suck it up princess we're stuck here until we find a new lead."_

"_You mean we're stuck here until you find us a new lead."_

"_Will you two quit arguing?"_ Came a quiet plea. _"It's time for prayers."_

The two stared at the older woman. She was a beautiful woman, no one could deny that. The man sighed.

"_I'm sorry Katyusha but I'm not really up for prayers to-oww!"_

Gilbert Beilshmit glared at the girl he was arguing with earlier. Natalia Arlovskaya, who had discreetly kicked his shin but was full out glaring daggers at him.

"_Fine!"_ The Prussian yelled and knelt down beside Katyusha who smiled both gratefully and apologetically at him. Natalia took Katyusha's other side and clasped her hands firmly together. The two women's eyes were closed. Gilbert didn't join them in their prayers. Even though he should, it was really the only weapon they had. But still after seeing and being through so many things Gilbert couldn't call himself a man of faith.

The Prussian of course knew why, he was much too egotistical of a bastard to accept that there could be someone (even a god) that was better than him. He refused to accept the possibility that anyone other than him dictated his life.

After a long moment, Katyusha finally put down the rosary. It wasn't a catholic rosary it was gift from their mentor, Gilbert eyed the necklace and wondered how his old friend was fairing on his own when suddenly a kick to his ass woke him out of his thoughts.

"_**Fucking bitch I should fucking stab you!"**_

To which Natalia replied_. "We don't understand that Germanic trash of a language so do not speak it around us."_

Gilbert smirked. _"You know I could have easily let you wonder off on your own, see how you fair without speaking any language other than Russian."_

Her eyes narrowed and she looked away with her face held high. _"Just go and find him."_ And she left Gilbert and Katyusha alone and entered her room. The Russian woman smiled apologetically to the Prussian once again.

"_I'm sorry about her and the way she treats you Gilbert. We would really be lost without you."_

"_Don't make it sound like she's your responsibility, she's just a castaway on our mission."_

The woman nodded but spoke in defense of the other Russian girl_. "She gave up everything though, and I also…" _She smiled a bit teasingly at the Prussian. _"You didn't complain at first when she joined us." _

Gilbert smirked. _"That's because she was like a little princess with all her money and resources. Too bad they're drying up."_

At this her eyes down casted. Gilbert sighed and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. _"How many times do you want me to say this Kat. None of this is your fault."_

"_But Gilbert he's-"_

"_-Your responsibility. Heard this all before. Understand this. What happened to you is what happened to a lot of people before you it's a terrible vicious cycle and you're the victim, not the cause."_

Before giving the chance to reply he grabbed his bag on the stand and walked towards the door.

"_I have a good feeling about today. I think we'll be back on the road soon enough."_

And it wasn't even 2 hours later when Gilbert ran up the stairs of the inn. Without even a polite _'salut'_ to the inn keeper. Good thing the Prussian was instantly recognizable or else he would have gotten shot.

Bursting open the doors a pillow was met with his face.

"_I've told you to always knock the door."_

Deciding it was best to ignore that whole episode Gilbert turned his eyes towards Katyusha. _"Pack your bags. We're leaving for London, in an hour."_

The Russian woman let out a sigh of relief. Natalia immediately went to work.

"_So our theory was wrong he can cross running water."_

"_It was your theory, you were the one insisting that he's like the ones from myth."_

"_Hey, I've been chasing after these things way longer than you have. You haven't even seen action yet!"_

Natalia lips were pressed firmly. Gilbert rolled his eyes. _"Don't worry about it princess you'll have your revenge soon enough."_

And then Katyusha's eyes down casted. Gilbert swore in German under his breath_. "I mean- __**Mein gott!**__ I hate dealing with women! I'm going to go pack my things now. Be ready in ten minutes, our ride is leaving soon. I'll be downstairs."_

When he closed the door behind him. Natalia and Katyusha exchanged looks. Over the past five years they had become very very close. They found comfort in each other, they were like siblings now. But one difference still remained.

Their feelings for Ivan Braginski.

"_It's good that we're back on track."_

Natalia only nodded.

"_For a moment I thought for sure we had lost him for good!"_

Kaytusha started to pack her bags. _"You know Natalia…Even after all this time, I still love my brother. If he were still human I'm sure that-"_

"_But he's not human."_

Katyusha paused holding her clothes over the bag. After a hesitant moment she placed it in and smiled.

"_You're right. He's a…He's not human anymore."_

"_And we will exterminate him, for everything's he done after changing."_

Her voice was cold. The older Russian woman was reminded of winter, but one thing she loved about winters is that there was always warmth hidden somewhere within them. Natalia wasn't an exception. Katyusha nodded.

Gilbert leaned against the doorway. Honestly what was the world coming to? For women to hunt monsters…The Prussian let out a frustrated sigh. Walking down the steps two at a time with ease, he reached the counter and tapped the innkeeper's shoulder for attention.

"_Excuse moi, but we will be leaving today after all, right away actually. Thanks for putting up with us for so long."_

"_Pas de problem, I take it you found who you were looking for?"_

Gilbert nodded a smirk crossing his face.

"_Turns out our friend was in England the whole time. 'Gonna have to brush up on my English, should be interesting."_

The man shook his head in disbelief. _"Honestly how many languages do you speak? It's completely ridiculous…"_

Gilbert chuckled and handed the man money that covered their stay and his beer tab. _"Other than bar brawls that's about all I'm good at."_

The man shook his head in disagreement this time, washing cups with his hands. _"No, that's a skill. You should definitely think about steeling down. You could probably make a fortune…"_

But gilbert was waving him off. _"That kind of life sounds boring sorry. Anyways, those girls really need me. I can't let those two ladies fend for themselves. That would make me lame." _

And then he went back upstairs into his room, packing his things quickly as he never really bothered to unpack everything.

They left as planned. By nightfall they were on a ship to England.

Scene .iii

_London, England_

_The Williams estate_

Matthew was eating slowly. He just couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true, but…the wrenching feeling in his gut told him otherwise.

Ivan Braginski…He was the serial killer.

The Canadian's mind flashed to the killer staring at him, under the lamppost and in the street last night. And Matthew had let him get away.

Looking at his crepes, he considered leaving them but in the end decided not eating wasn't the best way to deal with the situation. The sweet taste filled his mouth. It was so good.

How can a man like Ivan Braginski exist in the same world as something as good as Maple Syrup?

Matthew sighed. He was finished eating, he stood up and brought his plate to the kitchen. He was tired he couldn't sleep well last night, not after those events, not after everything he had learned.

The worst part is Matthew couldn't be sure if the killer was Ivan Braginski.

Once they got home last night Arthur and Alfred began to explain what happened. They confessed that they couldn't really remember what he looked like. They both found it strange.

"I just know for a fact that he was tall. He was fucking hovering over me!"

Arthur nodded. "He hissed at me…That's all I can really remember."

But it was what Alfred said next that made Matthew shiver.

"He said the weirdest thing to me. "I told you to pray." I think he must have thought I was someone else…" Alfred's eyes flickered to Matthew with concern.

"Mathieu?" Matthew jumped in surprised and turn around to see his mother. He was still washing his dirty plate. "_Tout va bien, chérie?_ You don't normally wash the plate for five minutes unless something terrible is on your mind…"

Matthew tried his best to give her a reassuring smile. _"Ne t'inquiet pas, maman. J'suis seulement sur la lune, ne t'en fait rien."_

He put the plate away. His eyes went to window. The clouds were dark…honestly the darkest Matthew had ever seen at this hour. It almost feels like the night.

"Mathieu, can you do me a favour? I need you to supervise our flower orders. Could you go to the shop?"

Matthew nodded. He had nothing to do today anyways. Arthur and Francis were working and honestly, he wanted to slip out of the house before his cousin wakes up.

"I feel like going for a walk so I'll go ahead, just send the guys at the regular time ok?"

Mrs. Williams nodded and wished her son a safe trip. She was distracted with worry so that she forgot to remind her son to grab an umbrella. He was so distracted with his thoughts and suspicion that he did forget the useful tool.

Scene .iv

_With Ivan_

The room was encased in darkness. The windows were boarded shut, the job done neatly as not to let any sunlight in. The deep blue blinds were pulled over them, as an extra measure and for aesthetic reasons. In the room all there was a small table a dresser and a bed. The bed was beautiful draped in rich and soft blankets.

Comfort was one of the three things Ivan Braginski took pleasure in.

So naturally he was sleeping on the bed. The sun was due to rise in an hour. Normally he wouldn't have fallen asleep until the sun had risen but he was exhausted today. Matthew Williams circled around his head as the Russian tried not to let old memories sink to the surface, but to do so he would end up resorting to think about little Matvey to escape them.

But they haunted him in the last place he would have expected them too.

In his dreams.

The boy shouted. _"I won't let you touch her! If it's the last thing I'll do!"_

She was crying. _"Ivan please come back to me… I don't want to accept things the way they are!"_

The girl as cold as winter turned around, looking up at him with her clear steady eyes. "_Who are you?_"

Somewhere deep within Ivan's mind he thought to himself.

'_I don't want to remember.'_

But his dreams were filled with clips and snippets of his memories. Tugging and teasing him until he was finally flooded with them.

Scene .v

_5 years earlier_

_Russia_

The room was well lit. The people of high status sat and chatted among themselves, separated by their sexes unless one of the men would approach a group of ladies. Most likely they were in search of a possible wife. Many of the girls would giggle when a man would approach their little troupe. Some would try to act more dignified, but one could still sense that they were pleased. But Natalia Arlovskaya was different, she didn't try to act dignified, she was the very picture of dignity. Her eyes were cool and collected when she looked upon another person. She didn't feel any need to throw herself at someone's feet. But with her beauty it's not a surprise.

Because of her demeanour all of the girls called her the ice princess, always distant but still so beautiful. And it was that cold beauty that managed to draw in so many people around her. And it was then, surrounded by so many cheerful people, and as she sat still like a portrait that Ivan Braginski first settled his eyes on her.

His violet gaze caught her attention, and the stoic expression fell for the first time that evening.

She looked intrigued.

Ivan smirked behind the glass that was raised to his lips. If the ice princess was interested in speaking with him he would not disappoint. He hadn't had a good feeding in a long while. He straightened himself away from the wall. He was well dressed for such a fancy dinner party, but in all seriousness he could have dressed in rags and no one would notice.

Not unless he wanted them to, you know to cause a little scene.

He was going to march up to her and steal her away. They wouldn't discover her body until the next morning. Their eyes met again, and he smiled at her, letting her know that he was going to come and speak with her. But a nuisance beat him to it.

A young man, barely out of boyhood approached Natalia Arlovskaya. Her eyes broke out of his trance and they glared a bit at the other man. Ivan paused. It seems like he wasn't the only one able to break her calm demeanour.

"Sir Toris."

"He-Hello Miss Natalia. I-I uhhh… I wanted to speak with you in privacy if you have a moment."

Her cool blue eyes flickered back to the tall burly Russian. But she looked back at the brunet in front of her and nodded. He offered his arm to escort her out of the hall, but she didn't take it. Instead she walked out alongside him, her head held high.

Toris_ was Lithuanian by birth, but he and his family had moved to this part of Russia when he was young. Of noble calibre he and Natalia knew each other since childhood. They went out to the balcony. Natalia looked out to the acres of land, most of it belonged to her family, and one day it would belong to her.

"What do you want Toris?" Dropping the formalities since now they were alone. Toris smiled, it was much easier to speak to her like this.

"Well Natalia, I just wanted to spend some time alone with you."

The young Russian woman looked at the Lithuanian. Her guard appeared to be up, but Toris smiled.

"Besides, the way you were glaring at me earlier this evening I figured it was you trying to silently tell me to come and save you." He chuckled. His shoulder length brown hair was pulled back into ponytail. In the moonlight he looked quite handsome. Natalia's cheeks tinged pink.

"I-I wasn't glaring at you I was glaring at that annoying Felix." She said in her defense turning to hide her face from his view. At this Toris tilted his head, he pointed over his shoulders looking a bit surprised. "You wanted to speak with Felix?"

She shook her head, her long pale hair glowed silver in the moonlight. "No of course not."

He smiled, he took three steps towards her, until he was standing right behind her. He could see over her head, the land. Their land. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face into her shoulder. She tensed, her voice sounded cold when she spoke.

"What are you doing Toris?"

"I love you Natalia."

She tensed even further, and he smiled. He thought it was absolutely adorable the way she got so embarrassed.

Keeping their position, he took her hand into his, allowing them both to observe how their fingers interlaced. Toris sighed contently. He knew Natalia was happy to, because he felt her relax into his form.

_Soon_, Toris thought to himself, _soon I'll ask you to marry me…_

A crashing noise resounded and they both turned and saw Felix half bent over a broken vase. An obvious guilty expression covered his face but he laughed.

"I wonder who would like, leave a vase on the ground for someone to totally hurt themselves on." Toris let go off Natalia and went to check on Felix, missing the dangerous look that crossed her face. "Are you hurt?" The Lithuanian asked his best friend in concern.

Felix smiled brilliantly, and shook his head. "No I'm fine don't worry. But you two aren't married yet, so don't go around and avoiding dinner parties like these. You don't want to like tarnish a lady's reputation."

Toris smiled in agreement, he looked back to Natalia and saw that the cold demeanour had returned and was even colder than before. "Thank you for your concern Felix, but perhaps it shouldn't be my reputation that you worry about."

Felix stiffened as the woman walked away leaving him and Toris alone. He smiled nervously at Toris, waiting for Natalia to be down the hall.

"I don't know what you see in her. She completely terrifies me."

But the Russian girl did hear his comment, her breath hitched slightly and she quickened her pace. She wasn't paying attention and she ended up crashing into a chest. Looking up, she saw that it was the man from earlier the one with violet eyes.

"Hello."

Natalia straightened herself creating some respectful distance in between them. She nodded stiffly. And was about to return to her seat, when the tall man took her hand into his, she was surprised with how cold his was, it was even colder than hers. He bent down and kissed her knuckles, smiling as blood rushed to her cheeks.

"My name is Ivan Braginski, and you are Natalia Arlovskaya, da?"

She had to force her head to nod in response. The man's childish smile widened just a fraction.

"You are quite as beautiful as they say Natalia. May I request that we take a walk together?"

She was going to accept, and she didn't really know why. But there was something absolutely fascinating about the man in front of her, she felt like she was going to drown in pools of violet.

"I'm sorry to interrupt the two of you, but I bear a message for Natalia from her mother."

A voice and a hand on her shoulder freed Natalia from her trance. She looked and saw that Toris had fallowed her, a conflicting emotion welled up in her chest as she watched how the Lithuanian glared heatedly at the Russian. But the man Ivan Braginski smiled back.

"I apologize." He said, and that was when Natalia realised that his smile didn't really feel like a smile. "I thought you were done with her this evening." Realizing that the Russian was still holding her hand, she let it go bringing it calmly to her face to move away a stray strand of hair, the girl spoke.

"Thank you for informing me, Toris, I'll go speak with her right away." She turned her cool eyes onto the Russian man still standing in front of them. "Perhaps another time Mr. Braginski." She raised her arm and looked at Toris. "Accompany me to my mother please, Toris."

He happily complied taking hold of her arm, he nodded his goodbye to the tall man and they went on their own way. The Lithuanian whispered to her as they walked away.

"I'm sorry I lied, I just don't like the way he looks and…"

"And what?"

"…how you looked at him." At this Natalia was slightly startled. Her mouth felt dry and she felt like she should say something to reassure him, but her voice was caught in her throat. Instead she pressed herself closer and squeezed his arm.

_I'm sorry Toris…But,_

She looked over her shoulder back at the Russian and saw him being chat to animatedly by one of the girls.

_He looks so lonely. _

Across the room Ivan chuckled. Pity. The cold girl pitied him. He eyed the girl in front of him who kept on talking, her cherry personality was really her only redeeming point. Not a very interesting individual. Natalia should pity this girl and not him.

For it would be this girl that quenches his thirst tonight, until Ivan can get his hands on the ice princess herself.

Scene .vi

Natalia woke up with a jolt. Katyusha who was still awake and still holding her hand sqeezed it with concern. "Are you alright? Her timid voice was quiet as to not wake up the other passengers in the trolley. The silver haired girl nodded.

Natalia leaned her head against the cab, she bit her bottom lip gnawing on it, her heart was still racing.

She dreamt of him, she dreamt of the first time she had met him but that wasn't the problem. She dreamt of Ivan Braginski often. She dreamt of him hiding in shadows with glowing red eyes. Of him jumping out of nowhere and going for her neck. She dreamt of him covered in blood not of his own.

Yes. She dreamt of Ivan Braginski often. But now what was threatening tears to spill from her eyes was Toris.

She hated dreaming of him. Her breath threatened to hitch, she was trying to breathe through her nose to calm herself down. Because when she dreamt of him, of being with him she just felt so happy. And waking up to reality was painful.

She could never be with Toris _ ever again. Ivan Braginski had made sure of that.

Scene .vii

_With Ivan_

He was tossing and turning on his bed. His fists clenched the sheets tightly. His brow was covered in sweat.

"_You will be drawn to two types of people. Those you can turn and those who can kill you."_

_The man with gold coloured eyes looked down at him, long black hair loosely covred his face that dripped with Ivan's blood._

"_Sister I don't want to die."_

_He clenched his neck, and exchanged looks of horror with his beloved sister who was accompanied by two men._

"_Don't let him get away!"_

_A man with short black hair yelled at the other with shocking white hair. The oriental looking man chased after the man with long black hair. His sister stopped the one with white hair._

"_Please please don't hurt him!"_

"_I was drawn to you because you would turn."_

_Ivan smirked down at the brunet, his voice was cold and harsh. He had the boy pinned down. _

"_You know I wasn't even drawn to you, you could have lived." _

_The Russian's eyes were glowing red fiercely, the boy had put up a fight but it was over now. He bared his fangs and bit down into the boy's neck._

Ivan woke up. Eyes red. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment.

He was thirsty.

* * *

I was going to post this on Monday but I got too eager so here it is -2 days early :D

So here we are, we're kind of entering the past arc, but with some incorporation of the present.

I really enjoyed writing this chapter. It was kind of an experiment but I really liked how it came out. Maybe because it's so much easier writing everything in one or two goes and not chopped up into little pieces. *shakes head disappointedly at self* Anyways, so yes, thing sare going too get good now. Bwahahahahaha~!

Can I just say "Look I was able to incorporate Toris and my story got THAt much better!" Thanks three-tailed-fox for suggesting Lithuania! Now somehow he became vital to the plot. ;D

Prussia was always going to come in. He was too awesome to leave out of the "Everyone is after Matthew thing." Will Ukraine and Belarus fall for Mattie maybe –maybe not…BWAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA~!

. A lot of evil laughter today. Oh wellz.

I lovbe reading what you guys think, so please don't feel shy to drop me a word (or an exclamation point xD) Oh and to all my anonymous reviewers I love you guys! And to curlyfries THAT'S EXACTLY HOW I FELT ABOUT THE LAST CHAPTER. I really did feel like I screwed it up completely and in the ways you explained. TT_TT But I'm so grateful that you still like this story! Like you have no idea~~~

Actually I love you all for being able to put up with me and my sorry non-existent skills. The other day I had a shock and was like so how many reviews am I- OMFGILYA8W329QHH!

If I make it to 100. I may die.

Just a little. On the inside. If I make it to 102, I'll take a request. I really love Prompts. *3*

Thank you all so much! (cookies for those who can guess correctly what on earth was happening in Ivan's dream.) Oh and I hope this was enough Ivan to satisfy the lot of you. ;D

(Some notes: Dialogue only italics means they're speaking in a different language. When they're some French in it, it means they're speaking in French, if it's just italics, Russian. Bold and italics German. And at the last scene it was Russia's dream in italics. I hope that was clear. C: )


	8. Act 8: Gilbert Beilschmidt

Disclaimer: I own plot. That is all. Class is excused.

* * *

Bullets with Butterfly Wings

Act 8

Gilbert Beilschmidt

Scene .i

_Ivan Braginski's room_

He stood at the bared off window. He could hear the heavy rain. He could _feel_ that the sun was completely covered. And somehow he just knew that the clouds wouldn't let up at all today. He went to the dresser and pulled on some fresh clean clothes.

He put on the dark leather gloves over his hands. The scarf was tied neatly around his neck. A hat over his eyes and last an umbrella. The only bit of skin we could see on the Russian was his face, and even then if he hid it behind his scarf you could barely see any. (Even his ear were tucked inside the hat.) All in all, he looked rather ridiculous, but it's not like he cared.

HE opened the umbrella indoors before stepping outside. He winced. Even though the clouds were a dark gray you could still tell it was daytime. Everything appeared in grey scales. Ivan cursed in Russian under his breath. He would work quickly grab someone, feast and then return to the darkness of his room before his brain exploded from the headache.

But hunting was just so much harder during the day. A hassle.

He sighed as he walked down the street. He had no idea where he was going, but hopefully wherever his feet were taking him, it would lead to a nice midday snack.

Scene .ii

_A flower shop, downtown London_

The walk to the flower shop was long, and when it suddenly started pouring the Canadian cursed in both languages he knew and ran for shelter. He successfully arrived at the shop looking flustered and soaked to the bone.

The man at the counter raised an eyebrow.

And Matthew's already flushed face turn redder. He stuttered a quick apology, as the man shrugged it off. Matthew took this moment to look at the flower shop. It was beautiful and soothing. All kinds of colours met with Matthew's eyes. The shop was small of course, a single room, but because of its size every inch of the place was covered with flowers. A smiled appeared on his lips.

"Are you in a good mood boy?"

At this Matthew's attention was drawn back to the worker. He was tall and handsome, a scar on his forehead will his hair stood up straight. His posture was rigid; the Canadian wouldn't have been surprised if he had worked for the military once upon a time, making him seem rather intimidating even in such a calm shop. Grey eyes met with Matthew's violet ones.

"No. Not especially. It's just that…" He looked back at the flowers his smile widening as he looked back to the worker. "It's hard to worry about my problems surrounded by so much beauty." The man nodded in agreement.

"My sister said I was a fool to begin a trade in flowers, but these plants are the only things worth living for."

Matthew watched as the man's intimidating demeanour seemed to vanish as his eyes looked upon all the flowers fondly. But Matthew shook his head.

"There are many things worth living for."

He said simply and the man smiled. He extended his hand for a shake. "Lars Van Dyk, I come from the Netherlands, the Holland region." Matthew nodded and shook the man's hand. "Matthew Williams, Canada."

"So how can I help you today Matthew Williams from Canada."

The Canadian smiled. "You can just call me Matthew, and I'm here on an errand. My father has asked for an order of flowers from your establishment I believe?"

"Stephan Williams I'm guessing then? Well you came to the right place but this order was a bit ridiculous mind you. I hope you're not alone to carry everything home?"

"No I was just sent on ahead."

The man nodded and went to work, but Matthew interrupted him as his eyes fell upon a garden of reds, pinks, and yellows.

"What are these called?" The man's face broke out into a grin. He went beside Matthew who was staring at the flowers intently.

"Tulips, my country imported them from the Ottoman Empire long ago and now it is our national flower. You have good taste Matthew, these are my favourites."

Matthew's eyes never left the tulips, he looked at the flowers in awe. He bent down to take a closer look, he really liked them. He wondered if they could grow back at home. He smiled at Lars. "I'll take a package of seeds plus a bouquet." Lars nodded. "So I'll just add it to the order…" He walked leaving Matthew staring in awe at the flowers.

Not even a minute after Lars had left did the Canadian feel a shadow behind him. His breathe hitched and he knew this feeling. Calmly Matthew straightened himself out; his guard was up because he knew without a doubt that it was Ivan Braginski standing behind him.

"I do not understand why you like this flower so much Matvey. It is plain. Not beautiful."

Matthew couldn't stop himself from replying, in admittedly a low voice.

"It's because of its simplicity that it is so beautiful." His eyes concentrated on the flowers in the bed. "It doesn't try to be beautiful, it just is."

Silence fell after his statement. The Canadian swallowed, it felt like forever, but he refused to look at the man behind him. But the silence was getting to him so he was the one to break it.

"You…You're the killer."

Ivan didn't reply.

Matthew pushed on. "You killed Miss. Miria, you killed that man last night and…you tried to kill my cousin."

Still the shadow didn't say anything. Now the Canadian was starting to feel panicked. But before he could say any more, before he completely lost his nerve, Ivan finally replied.

"What if I am?"

The Russian taunted him. Anger started to boil within the Canadian, but he didn't act out on it. He wasn't an idiot. He knew what the bodies looked like, and Matthew didn't want to end up in a closed coffin like Miria.

"I can't forgive you."

At this the Russian chuckled. He didn't understand, he couldn't remember the name of the painful feeling that stabbed his chest. But he laughed on, to cover the pain. To scare the blond haired boy standing in front of him. The boy who refuses to look at him…

His hand twitched as he eyed the boy's bare neck.

Honestly, Ivan let out a broken sounding chuckle. He looked so appetizing…

"It's not like I was seeking forgiveness Matthew."

His hand shot out. The Canadian barely had time to react, as he saw a gloved hand a come and cover his eyes. He was pulled into the Russian's chest. Hot breath on his ear.

"I'll see you soon."

And Matthew was alone once again. He looked round to try a catch a glimpse of the Russian but he was gone. And Matthew was alive. But instead of the relief that should have flooded, disappointment overtook him. He looked bitterly down at the spot the Russian stood before.

_Why Ivan?_ He thought to himself. He grabbed his head and cursed himself. Not understanding anything. Why did Matthew feel so disappointed? It's not like…

He thought back to the evening he met Ivan. It was hard to get the Russian off his mind after that. Despite the rudeness and the awkwardness, the evening was kind of…fun.

Matthew Williams sighed. He looked outside the window at the pouring rain. The clouds seemed darker and more ominous than ever. He knew why he felt so disappointed, why the fact that Ivan was the killer ached him in such a way...

_It feels like I missed out on something good._

Lars entered the main part of the shop a moment later, telling the Canadian that the people arrived and were waiting out back. So Matthew followed quietly Lars to the back. Ivan's voice continued to echo in the back of his mind. And everytime Matthew felt himself well up with fright and anticipation.

_When is soon?_

Scene .iii

_Outside_

Ivan paced out of the vicinity quickly, his heart was racing, he was thirsty he was so thirsty for Matthew's blood. When he allowed himself to wonder he couldn't believe that he was found Matthew like a compass find North. Ivan was _drawn_ to Matthew. A man's voice echoed in the recess of his mind.

"_You will be drawn to two types of people. Those you can turn and those who can kill you."_

'_Dammit.'_

He saw a woman walking with her son in her arm, and umbrella over her shoulders. She was stopped in the road by the baby's crying, cooing to calm him down. It would be too easy. But Ivan stopped himself, he saw an old man sitting on the edge of the road. Homeless. Ivan swooped in grabbed the man by the neck and dragged him to the alley, the grip on the man's vocal chords making him incoherent. Nobody noticed.

In the shadows and in the rain, he tore off the man's head, in one swift motion. Ivan didn't even take time to pleasure the look. He was too thirsty.

Tossing the horror stricken head away, he began to drink from the decapitated body, blood still spewed from the neck. It didn't matter the world was as red as his eyes. He drank, he drank more than he ever had before.

Words were jumbled in his head, he couldn't think he could only drink. He could only picture fragmented faces. Matthew's would fuse with the brown haired boy's, and then a white haired man would appear. His sister's tear stricken face, Matthew's words, Silver hair.

"_Who are you?"_

And then finally a man with long black hair tied in a low pony tail. Wearing traditional oriental clothing. He held a harsh glare, his gold coloured eyes slowly turning red…

Ivan laughed. He laughed over the body and he was completely covered in blood.

That's right.

He was once Ivan Braginski. He was had a beautiful older sister named Katyusha. He once lived in a nunnery with her, he once helped the nuns in their good deeds. He once saved a man.

But not anymore. Ivan Braginski died years ago.

Now all that was left was a vampire.

A monster.

"_I can't forgive you."_

The Canadians words echoed within his head once again. The laughter faded, but the mad smile was still there.

A monster doesn't seek forgiveness. But maybe…He thought back to that day so many years ago. Sitting in the rain like a lost a child.

Maybe a monster can seek companionship.

The laughter returned. He would find Matthew. He will drink his blood and see, Ivan was willing to risk his immortal life on it. He chuckled, he just couldn't imagine Matthew killing him. And if the boy turned then Matvey would be his,

_Forever._

Ivan chuckled and allowed his face to be drenched in the pouring rain. It was washing away the blood on his face. It was strange how everything felt so surreal, but enlightening. With his face completely exposed to the sky, he didn't really care if the sun came out and burned him. He knew what he will do. He knew what he wanted to do. And the Russian wondered if that man from long ago went through a similar episode like this.

_Is this what you felt, Yao?_

Scene .iv

_Russia_

_8 years earlier_

A man clenched his shoulder and swore in a strange language. His eyes glowed dangerously in the winter clear nights. Stars followed his every movement, as he trudged through the snow. Luckily he couldn't feel the cold, in his light silk outfit.

Hopefully he had finally lost him. He found a crevice in a tree, it was small, but the man was small as well. He was tempted to rest in it, but he couldn't afford it. The sun would be up soon. He coughed up blood. He smirked, it seems like he was right after all.

'_Kiku your wish will come true at last.' _

He fell face down in the snow. On the brink of unconsciousness the vampire thought to himself.

_Maybe death will be nice…_

And then his once red vision blacked into darkness.

Ivan Braginski had seen the man, stumble down into the snow. He even shouted at him, but the man was too weak to hear or acknowledge. He ran to his side and saw the bleeding; he picked up the man in his arm, and noticed immediately that he was of oriental origin. He stared in awe at the man's beauty. Rushing back to the nunnery he brought the man to his room.

The Russian always got up before sunrise for his chores. It was a habit he picked up when he was younger. The nuns loved and adore him, as he was always eager to help out. He took care of all the tasks that required physical force for the dear ladies.

His sister and he were raised here together by these wonderful women.

They raised them with kindness, and somehow the adult Russian seemed to have kept a childish charm. His sister sworn into the convent, and Ivan was pleased. The nuns allowed him to continue living with them as a worker. His life couldn't have been happier.

He fumbled into his room and placed the man on his bed. As he did so the man's eyes opened revealing golden coloured orbs. Ivan blushed under the other man's weak stare. Even though the oriental man looked younger than the Russian, he somehow felt immensely older.

He spoke in his language. And Ivan replied that he didn't understand. The man nodded and spoke in a broken Russian.

"Please…Close the window. Sunlight hurts me."

Ivan's naivety allowed him to do so without asking questions. He looked so weak that he wouldn't want to hurt him further. As he got up to the window he could see far into the horizon, the sun was breaking across the treetops. He loved the sun so much…but he closed the windows quickly for the wounded man's sake.

He returned to the man's side and began taking off the man's clothing. Thinking that maybe it would be best to keep him talking.

"My name is Ivan, da. You are?"

"Yao. I am from China, aru."

Ivan nodded and set the man sitting up straight, the Chinese hissed in pain. They removed the shirt slowly, allowing a good view to the wound. And it was then that Ivan knew that he was stabbed, straight through the shoulder, by the size of it. A broad sword.

Ivan stared at the wound and at the man in disbelief. How long had he been walking with such a severe wound? But instead of asking time consuming questions he went to work.

Scene .v

_Still in Russia, 8 years past_

"_We were so close."_

"_Don't sweat it, no matter how much blood he drinks he can't just get over a wound like that."_

Gilbert Beilschmidt wiped the blood off his sword. It was a good hit, but too high, tragically. He looked at the other man. He was clenching his neck. Blood was flowing in between his fingers. But if he was in any pain he didn't give any indication. He was kneeling in the direction the vampire had fled. Gilbert pulled up beside him and offered his hand.

But the Japanese man stood on his own without the Prussian's help. Green beads of a rosary were wrapped around his hands; he clenched his fists around the soft stones. His eyes steady as he watched the sun start to rise.

"_We must hurry."_

The Prussian gave the other a flat stare. The Japanese man paused in his advance and looked back a bit warily at the Prussian.

"_Yeah, that's what I thought. Finally learned your lesson?"_

Kiku sighed reluctantly, he knew the Prussian wouldn't let him continue the pursuit wounded (the last time the Japanese man tried the Prussian knocked him out without hesitation and then carried his unconscious body to the nearest doctor.)

"_There's a town not far ahead but I'm going to look at that bite before we move forward…"_

Gilbert motioned to Kiku's neck, the bite mark was like it was usually, not deep but managed to bleed a lot, but enough for the pale oriental man to look even paler. The albino nodded. _"It's not too bad but you'll still need to eat and rest."_

The Japanese man nodded, figuring it so as much. They bandaged it up quickly with their supplies that were a couple yards back since it was discarded in their chase. Having lost their horses (again) in the chase, Gilbert told Kiku to rest while he tracked down the mares. Once he finally found them they left quickly for the town, by the time they had arrived the town was already bustling with life.

Arriving they dismounted their horses, through their walk, Kiku felt uncomfortable. Merchants and town folk gave the two odd looks as they looked for an inn to rest at. The Prussian looked completely at ease as he was used to drawing eyes to himself. It was extremely rare to see an albino…alive. They weren't very well regarded in any parts of the world and were normally disposed of as babes.

But this time it wasn't just Gilbert that was being stared at, it was rare to see an oriental man so far west in Russia, in the eastern southern part Kiku could blend in much more easily but not here where visitors were rare, and travelers even rarer.

Gilbert was leading the way, his longer legs always making him walking ahead of the shorter man, looking back he noticed how uncomfortable his friend was. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he marched up to a man that was staring at the albino. Speaking fluently in Russian, he shocked the merchant and some random passer-byers.

"Is there an inn or tavern my friend and I can rest in for a couple of days in this town?"

Kiku couldn't help but stare admiringly at the Prussian, being a linguist is no easy task and every language just sounded so different, the Japanese man still had difficulty with mandarin and he lived in China for years…

The merchant dumbstruck nodded and pointed in a general direction, Gilbert then asked if the man had feed for their horses.

Kiku petted his horse while Gilbert hassled the man about the price, chuckling. It didn't matter what language the Prussian spoke, he was still Gilbert. Even in different language, Kiku could recognize an obnoxious tone.

After gaining the horse feed at an incredible bargain ("_Obviously 'cuz I'm awesome."_) thanks to the Prussian's pushy personality and the threatening glint in his red eyes. They made their way to the inn, the stares not lessening a bit, if anything they were even more astonished than before since the haggle volume rose steadily with both the merchant's and Gilbert refusal to agree to the other, advertised that the strange albino spoke very good and up to date Russian.

(Even the cussing, a man mused in good humour.)

Leaving their horses with the inn's guard; they entered the inn, relishing in the warmth. Neither vampire slayers enjoyed the cold or winter very much.

"_God, if we lose Yao again I hope he heads South."_

Kiku gave the albino a hard stare. _"We can't afford to lose him again."_

"_I know I know."_

Gilber walked up to the inn keeper, the man was a bit heavy at the waist and overall had a jolly looking face. And he definitely looked happy at the sight of customers. No matter how foreign they appeared.

"My friend and I would like to rest the night, maybe more. How much do you charge? We may not like the cold, but we're long term travelers and we can't afford overpriced lodgings."

The Russian waved him off, the smile never wavering from his face.

"Comrade, you've come to the perfect inn. We offer clean lodgings only at fair prices. The only way to make your stay cheaper would be to share a bed with your handsome friend over there. But you'll see, you'll want to pay for the extra bed at the cheap prices we offer here…"

He continued on with his tangent. And Kiku zoned out, it's not like he could understand a word the man said anyways. He decided to observe his surroundings. The inn definitely was well kept, humble but with a hint of kindness and good air. It would be nice to stay in a warm place like this, compared to cold nights by the fire in the snow, or the run down mills they would hide in from a sudden blizzard.

Kiku turned his steady gaze back at the two. He knew Gilbert was either buying time to stay in warmth or he really was planning on staying here. Kiku hoped it was the later. The Prussian liked his money and he probably would sleep in the cold naked instead of wasting it. Kiku…was not so tough.

After a while Gilbert was tired of playing placid listener. "Alright already, two beds for a room and breakfast. That's all I'll pay for now, my friend and I travel when the weather is good and when our backs tell us it's fine to move. So we pay by the day."

The man nodded enthusiastically, and showed them to their rooms. The Japanese man asked quietly once the man left them to unpack.

"_Did you settle on a price?"_

"_Yes, and I think I underestimate how desperate he was for customers. I thought for sure a nice place like this would try to charge us through the nose…"_

He left the thought hanging as he threw his things onto the table beside his bed, nodding in approval. _"Really nice place."_

Kiku placed his things down gently, he sat down. By the time they had reached town the blood loss from earlier was really starting to get to him, so he felt exhausted and sleep heavy on his eyelids making it difficult to keep them open. He finally found himself lying down on his bed, his cloak and winter clothing still own. And his vision faded into sleep he was comforted by the Prussian's words.

"_**Ja**__, you sleep for a bit Kiku, I'll take care of everything."_

He would have nodded if he had fallen asleep. He knew Gilbert would. The Prussian was the only man he trusted with everything. They had traveled a long road together and their bond was now as thick if not thicker than blood.

But Kiku's sleep was not blissful. Yao evaded him as always, attacking and then disappearing into the night and every time Kiku was given the chance to end the chase he stopped. Yao's red eyes would turn gold and his snarl into pulled down parted lips. Instead of cruel words, pleading ones would fill the Japanese man's ears.

"_Don't Kiku…Please don't kill me…"_

And when Kiku would think his Yao, the one he knew and loved had returned, a vampire would bite Kiku's neck. And with a blood soaked cackle Yao would disappear once again into the night, evading, always escaping…

Scene .vi

_England, present_

Gilbert's pale lashes opened. He knew where he was, memories from the past never left him wondering what was the present. He looked at the two women sitting opposite from him. They were on a carriage now, the ferry ride lasted longer with the storm, but English sailors were strong and used to the Channels stormy weathers. They reached shore safely and waited for a carriage to take the three of them to London. They were lucky to get their own private coach, but it was to be expected. Nobody really wanted to ride with an albino. Men would sit on their wives if it meant avoiding it.

The Prussian being his awesome self was used to it. But one thing he wasn't used to, or very fond of was traveling by sea. The overnight ferry made him feel sick. Thankfully he wasn't the only one. Natalia passed out as soon as they sat down. Traveling by sea did make her sick. The only who seemed immune was Katyusha Braginski.

And as he expected, she was still awake.

"Don't you ever sleep?" He asked and then chuckled. "Or do you sleep with your eyes open?"

She smiled softly back. "Of course I sleep, Gilbert. How else would I have lasted so long?"

And then he heard a familiar sound, the sound of beads clinking together as fingers played with them. He looked at Katyusha's hands and saw Kiku's rosary. The Prussian smiled nostalgically.

The Russian smiled back and then turned once again to face the window. Gilbert couldn't help but stare at her. While Natalia had a young beauty, Katyusha's was matured and probably the definition of beautiful. (The Prussian couldn't help but let his eyes wonder down a bit.)

There was something ageless about the woman. Nobody could have correctly guessed her age. Gilbert could hardly believe it himself. But tears seemed to rim her eyes at the strangest moments but completely disappear in others.

Take this moment for instance. There are no tears welling in her eyes, but she looks incredibly sad.

"Katyusha…you okay?"

She nodded silently. But her form stiffened the slightest bit. And Gilbert knew, as one who was bound to know after so many years of travel together. That she wasn't alright, but that there was nothing he could do. It was always like this when they were close to the vampire.

To Katyusha's brother. Her eyes never left the widow, and it was then that the Prussian realised that she wasn't watching the horizon to the side but ahead. In the direction of London.

"He's there isn't he?"

She nodded again. Her mouth quivered and for a second Gilbert worried she would start crying but resolution instead crossed her face. The quivering stopped and she spoke silently, that Gilbert could hardly hear her over the sound of the hooves and wheels pulling the coach.

"Ivan is in London and…He's found someone, a target." Her eyes flickered to Natalia, but then went back to the road ahead. "And I have to stop him. He-" Her breath hitched but the resolution to speak continued.

"My brother would want me to."

She smiled suddenly at Gilbert who had listened quietly the whole time.

"Get more rest Gilbert, we will be there soon and I worry we shan't get sleep tonight."

Her hand went to her chest clenched around the crucifix that hung there. Her eyes closed as she began praying. Her other hand still held Kiku's rosary. Her thumb and index played with the beads again, the sound was soothing. And Gilbert found his eyelids heavy.

He wondered if this was her power as sleep overtook. He saw her blue eyes open, reminiscent of events passed. Her lips pressed in a firm line, determination etched into her beautiful face, to not let her brother the vampire get away again.

* * *

I'm really happy with this chapter maybe because MATTIE AND IVAN FINALLY meT AGAIN eh? Even though it wasn't face to face. But they CONVERSED. For like a page. I'm sorry it was a brief reunion but NOW IVAN HAS DECIDED TO THROW THE SHIT AT LAST. And it took me only …8 chapters. Wow. Once I'm done maybe I'll revise the story again. *shot* But nothing plot wise *shot* …Owwww… ;A;

I hadn't really planned on a whole past arc thing, but I have to say. I LOVE IT WAAAAY TOO MUCH. (I will confess upfront that I love MANY pairings)

Please readers tell me what you think will happen? I love to hear theories and such! Unless there correct and then I wanna throw myself into an inferno. (jk,jk)

I remember people used to say my story was unpredictable. Is it still so?

IN OTHER NEWS NOT RELATED TO BwBW, I joined a Hetalia RP, they are currently accepting applications if you're interested in joining (it's an X-men THEMED RP) pm me and I'll send you a link! *3* (btw I'm RPing France Ohonhonhon)

P.S I'm sorry, I haven't been replying to all your reviews. my time on the interwebz is limited so...please forgive me! ;n; I promise to reply to you all one day or another! so expect it! *powers up*


	9. Act 9: Katyusha Braginski

Disclaimer: I don't own APH. If I did Canada would be just…So much….More…Oh, and despite this being mostly a RusCan fic. Canada x Ukraine would be cannon. End of story. No matter what Ontario, Quebec and Manitoba might say out of fear of having Russia as an in-law. XD

Pre- Note: I'm sorry for the delay for this chapter. I had a terrible week, and I don't like writing anything in a foul mood.

* * *

Bullets with Butterfly Wings

Act 9

Katyusha Braginski

Scene .i

"_Катюша!"_

A little boy smiled. His eyes a strange violet, and his hair a pale blond, covered with snowflakes. A girl just entering her teens turned and met the smile with her own.

"_Иванушка."_

Katyusha jerked out of her thoughts. Tears were stinging her eyes. Her chest tightened with a familiar and yet rarely felt feeling. She forced her eyes, no longer was it farm lands but buildings. The horses hooves fell on stone click clacking was loud. It woke up the two other occupants of the coach.

"_Wha-"_ Natalia started when Katyusha politely interrupted. _"We're here…He's here."_ Her skin was almost deathly pale, and then the Prussian was fully awake.

"_You sense him?"_

She nodded but her lips were pressed into a thin line. _"They are so many souls here; I can't tell where he is only that he's here. In this city." _

Gilbert patted her knee in a friendly encouraging gesture. "Don't worry about it. It's a start."

The coach pulled up to a stop at an inn. One by one they hopped out, they had immediately drawn attention to themselves. But they were used to it. It was bound to happen when traveling with an albino. But it didn't help that the two women could perhaps be considered insanely beautiful.

An old man began coughing violently since he held his breath as they walked by him into the inn. After Katyusha had generously tipped the cab driver along with blessing him and his family. Gilbert grinned.

"Consider yourself lucky man! This woman's blessings are miracles in the making." The cab driver tipped his hat in thanks and left them.

The inn was practically filled to the brim. The crowd filled up tables and stood around them, pools of bets were being made as two hulky men seemed to be competing against each other by drinking away their livers.

A waitress walked by a tray filled with glasses of beer. Gilbert grabbed one ad took a sip, he grinned.

"_Piss light water beer. I can take everyone here."_ The smugness in his voice was enough proof that he was telling the truth. Natalia cool eyes trained on him and the crowd, she weighed her pocket.

"_Then prove it."_

He smirked there was the cue he was waiting. He stepped into the crowd the two men had fallen over and the next round was taking place. "Hey! Who thinks they can take on the awesome me!"

A couple of the English drunks just outright laughed at him. But the more sober ones were weighing their options. Through the albino's travelers cloak they could see a sword and his clothing hung properly to show that he wasn't weak in the least.

As a man stepped forward, Gilbert smirked as bets began being placed. Katyusha tugged on his sleeve. _"Gilbert, I cannot condone this kind of behaviour."_ She scolded quietly, enough so that nobody could hear her Russian. She didn't want to draw anymore unnecessary attention.

"_Lighten up, don't worry about a thing."_

"_But what if you lose, he's three times your size! We can't have you using the last of our money supplies for bets…" _

That was true, but the Prussian knew what he was doing. Good thing the girls can't understand English.

"So how much in the pool?" The huge man asked, his voice was rough and coarse signalling Gilbert that he had already began drinking that evening. He smirked.

"For you men, I say 20 pounds." The men were taken back. That was waaaaaay too much. But before they could protest Gilbert held his hand up to stop their onslaught of slurred words. "Unless you believe these two women are worth less."

Katyusha literally jumped when all the men's head snapped in hers and Natalia's direction. Tears sprang to her eyes. And then she looked on with despair at the Prussian's back.

'_Gilbert what are you doing!'_

Natalia remained emotionless but there was a gleam in her eyes that suggested she knew exactly what was going on. But she too, looked on expectantly at the Prussian. She stepped to his side, her hair billowing behind her. She moved her lips to his ear.

"I thought you didn't want Katyusha in the betting pool."

"I just want to be covered for a long time. And it would be suspicious if I only betted you, right?"

He smirked as he pulled up a chair to the table the men in the restaurant were going mad pooling in all their money together, to help pay the 20 pounds.

The large man was still suspicious, but his eyes kept drifting back to Katyusha. There was no denying that she looked like an angel. And the man would feel bad if anything happened to her. So he made a silent vow to himself, he would win and protect her from this stranger! Any man could get his grubby paws on her, because of this albino's carelessness! And then his happy life with the angel drifted into his mind…

Katyusha meanwhile couldn't help but feel shivers run up and down her spine. She went up to Gilbert, who was sitting and who was glaring at the man with his usual confident look. This proved to be a bad idea as then the crowd circled around the table to watch the drinking contest. Now she was stuck she had to watch this sinful event. Now a disapproving scowl mixed in with her frightened look.

A waitress was allowed to the front. Carrying a tray filled with mugs of beer. "Is gin alright for you boys?" She asked lowering the tray, her sleeves was pulled up and the Russian could easily see the muscles the woman earned for working at such a rowdy place.

The large man made a sound that was somewhere in between a snort and a grunt. Gilbert nodded the smug grin never left his face. Arguments were already breaking out in the crowd as side bets were being placed. Katyusha bent down to kneel in front of the table. Now her head was lower than Gilbert's but surprisingly enough the large man exclaimed something she didn't understand. And suddenly a chair appeared out of nowhere and the men seemed to be telling her to sit. She did so, relieved. She wasn't as young as she used to be…

She looked at the man and smiled at him. He flushed and looked away. Gilbert smirk grew.

"_With you here this is going to be a synch."_

Meanwhile Natalia was glaring as the men on her side of the table had a harder time to get a chair for her. The two men began their contest as a chair was finally pulled out for her. She crossed her arms and legs and watched apathetically at the match.

The oldest of the three grimaced as Gilbert and the large man chugged their drinks one after the other without so much as a pause for breath. She also flinched every time the men behind her jumped and screamed.

And then after what felt like forever. The drinks on the table were one. The waitress's eyebrow was up in quiet amusement. Both men were panting now. The large man's face was red, but his nose stood out as a cheery. And gilbert's face too was flustered, but because of his albinism it came out pink. But it was still the darkest colour Katyusha had ever seen his face get (except those black eyes and bruises).

They both looked up at the waitress. Their voices said more but their bodies obviously disagreed. The woman smirked. They were close to falling over now. From her oversized pocket she pulled out a clear bottle, and the liquid inside was clear as well. The large man immediately thought of water but Gilbert retched away from the bottle.

"No…Anything but that!"

He exclaimed appalled, and his English sounded absurdly slurred his Germanic accent came out stronger than ever. The large man looked at the bottle and then at Gilbert. Confusion completely etched into his face.

"What? What is it?" His vision was too blurry to even try and make out the writing. But by now the drunken crowd exclaimed with glee.

"Vodka!"

Katyusha sighed tiredly. She really just wanted to get to a bed now. She looked at the bottle, it was imported from home, she could read the writing on it. She tapped Gilberts shoulder, a hard look on her face. _"Translate me word for word."_

He woozily nodded his head.

She spoke and then Gilbert shook his head furiously. "No." He said over again, until suddenly she grabbed him by the ear and he howled.

"Fine! Fine! Katyusha here says she's tired of these games." The crowd fell silent so that everyone could hear the Prussian. "She says she will finish it herself…" And his head lolled down a bit in that moment pause both he and the large man seemed to have fallen asleep until they were both slapped.

"Right! Right…Anyways, she says, she wants to change it. The drinking completion that is."

He rolled his hand as if this was boring but apparent. "The deal the same but it's on whether or not she can chug the whole bottle of vodka in one go… plus the usual rules." He shuddered as he said the "v" word.

The whole crowd turned their eyes on Katyusha again, this time she was ready for it. Quiet resolution emitted from her. But the crowd couldn't see it and they burst out into laughter.

The Prussian yelled out in her defence. "Unless you're all scared of her winning, eh! She doesn't mind if a bunch of washed up drunk boys turned down her challenge!"

Now this caught the people's attention but they still laughed. They encouraged the large man to accept it since it was his call. The large man wasn't sure, his gut feeling told him to decline, let the Prussian drink the vodka. But in his state the smiles and cheers of the people around him influenced him. He nodded.

Katyusha stood to her feet, she smiled thanks to the waitress as she was handed the bottle uncapped. She dipped her pinkie finger in it, smelling and then licking the edge. She nodded to herself. She knew what she was doing.

Natalia and Gilbert both watched with astonished eyes as their _nun _began chugging down the whole bottle. She didn't pause once the burn was welcomed, and since Gilbert and Natalia knew better, they could tell that Katyusha was smirking.

The whole crowd was cheering waiting for her to spit it out, anything, but the cheers slowly died as the last few sips were taken. Dislodging her lips to the bottle, she made a refreshing sound. Her face was flushed a little and she smiled at the quiet crowd.

"How…?"

She grinned and spoke in a language no one understood.

"_Vodka is Russian water, after all!"_

Scene .ii

The party was a full success so far. His mother had done brilliantly and the flower arrangement (supervised by Lars) came out amazingly. Matthew was easily able to keep his mind off the earlier encounter.

It helped that he was able to keep it off his chest by telling Francis in the kitchen earlier.

The Frenchman volunteered to help out with whatever last minute preparations needed oversight. Michelle Williams was eternally grateful. "_Ah, comme il est beau Mathieu! Il ressemble à ton grand-père…_"

The Frenchman chuckled as he had overheard Michelle's comment. Matthew just blushed rather embarrassed. "She always does that," he complained to the Frenchman afterwards. "She coos over anyone who will let her."

"I think she's lovely as you. She's what you would have looked like if you were born a girl."

A flash to his dress wearing days. "Don't remind me…"

"_Mais je suis sérieux, tu es plus beaux que beaucoup de femmes ! Vous trouverez qu'il n'y aurait pas de femme qui voudrait vous marriez…_"

Matthew shook his head, he hopped Francis was wrong about that. He wasn't sure if he was cut out for the single life the Frenchman seemed to be leading.

There was a lull, and Matthew's mind wandered immediately to the events earlier that morning. He knew he had to tell his friends. And out of the three –yes he considered Al his friend, Francis was the easiest to speak with, but at the same time…

No he couldn't let his mind wander in dark corners, he needed to man up and tell him. Matthew was the kind of person who knew that being strong also meant asking for help when it is absolutely needed. He didn't have a pride problem like many he knew.

"Francis. I've…" He swallowed his fear, Ivan's smile flashed in his open eyes. "I've met the murderer."

The Frenchman was busy cutting carrots, with one last slice, he froze. His head turned mechanically towards the Canadian. Leaving Matthew feeling despaired, but now he began babbling.

"I first met him at Miria's café, the night she was murdered, and then I saw him again yesterday at the scene…" He swallowed. "And again today…"

"Did you-"

"No of course not! I didn't figure it out until Alfred said-"

The Frenchman shoulders slumped. He released his deathly grip on the knife and grabbed Matthew's hand. "We're going to see Arthur immediately."

The Canadian sighed. This wasn't going to blow over well.

And he was right. Arthur began yelling at him the moment he explained what clued in Matthew.

"How thick headed can you be! Did you not realise- Do you know what this means?"

Matthew didn't move an inch; his chin was pulled into his chest. Ashamed was written all over his face as he received a good scolding. Alfred too, didn't look very happy.

"Mattie, Brit is right."

"-Don't call me 'B_rit_!'"

"The Russian is targeting you."

Having the words thrown out so easily startled everyone into a stunned silence. Matthew and Alfred's eyes were locked. Francis was rubbing his forehead, a headache had formed. And Arthur's eyes brows were drawn tightly together. He was the first to break the silence.

"I believe so as well." He gave the American a sharp look. "Matthew from now on until this villain is caught you are not to leave the house. This killer is unlike any London has ever seen before."

He glanced at Francis and then pressed on. "I will inform your parents Matthew. Stephan needs to know, and nothing goes by unnoticed by your mother…We will set up a guard around your house from now on. This Russian will not be allowed anywhere near you."

The four men accompanied Matthew home, Arthur spoke with Stephan in privacy, the guards were set up in under an hour. Mrs. Williams fought hard not to cry. "The evening dinner will be starting soon Matthew, you and your cousin should go dress appropriately for it."

Once in the privacy of his own room, Matthew fell onto his bed, face first in his pillow. He sighed in frustration. He looked out his bedroom window. The rain had stopped but the clouds were still incredibly dark, as if threatening London with another downpour. But night was drawing in. The Canadian could feel it.

Somehow he had a terrible feeling that no matter what measures Arthur was willing to go through to make sure Ivan Braginski didn't get anywhere near Matthew Williams, it would all be in vain.

Matthew thought over all the events. Over and over again of his three encounters with Ivan Braginski. Of what he was told happened with his cousin. And that was when he came to his own private conclusion.

Ivan Braginski…was he a vampire?

Matthew paused in his thoughts. He had first thought of it when Alfred said he saw the Russian drinking the man's blood from the decapitated body. But the very idea was so ridiculous that no one even dared joke about it.

But the more Matthew thought about it the more he looked back at that memory. The one that haunted his dreams.

Ivan's eyes were glowing red in the dark.

Or so he thought, Matthew didn't like questioning his own sanity in such a way. He shoved away all mythical nonsense. That wasn't the thought that was bothering him. It's not the thing nagging at his very being.

He sat up on his bed. The nagging question circled his head.

_How soon is soon?_

And now there they were the party was full swing. With the dinner like all dinners; uneventful except for the glaring match in between Arthur versus Francis and Alfred, the two of which wouldn't stop taunting the Englishman.

Matthew laughed at the exchanges, happy enough to be a spectator for the most part but every now and then adding a comment in Arthur's defense, causing his cousin to whine in protest.

"Mattie, it should be us Americans versus these Europeans!" Francis looked hurt that he was so quickly abandoned by his ally. Matthew looked away. "I'm English Canadian, Al, not American."

Arthur made a satisfied "hah!" sound to Alfred's face, the American only rolled his eyes in response.

The waiters took away their plates and the four young men moved to the sitting room. It was filled with a lot of people. Led by Arthur and Francis's alcoholic needs, they stood by the punch table. Both of them drank generous sips of wine.

"Your father has good taste Matthew."

The Canadian chuckled. "It was my mother's choice." Arthur's eyes widened only a fraction.

Alfred just watched the two Europeans drink the wine. A grimace on his face. "It's disgusting, it makes my tongue feel weird."

"It's because your taste in unrefined. Nearly as bad as Arthur's here, but at least he knows good wine when he tastes it."

The Englishman didn't know whether he should snap at the insult or accept the sort-of compliment.

"Mattie doesn't like it either!"

"Yes, but Matthew isn't childish about it."

"Again with the child thing, huh?"

"You will be a child until you learn to respect your elders."

"Maybe some elders don't deserve my respect."

"I'll be leaving now…"

"You don't even know the meaning of the word do you-"

Matthew ducked out of the argument; he went unnoticed by the other three. Francis watched on with amused eyes as Arthur started to threaten to strangle some sense into Alfred. The American's very presence seemed to distract the Englishman from arguments with the Frenchman. It was a nice break, Francis admitted to himself.

The Canadian meanwhile left the punch bowls perimeter and left for the other room. Keeping his eyes open for any unoccupied guests. His mother would be absolutely furious if she found out that he allowed a guest to be left unattended. Seeing none on his way to the tea room, he decided to go check up on his mother and see if she needed help with anything. He found her sitting, she noticed his presence immediately and smiled up at him, before returning to chat with the other ladies sitting together. He had smiled back and was making his way towards her when he froze in mid-step.

Ivan Braginski stood behind his mother's chair.

Matthew's form was petrified, his mauve eyes wide with horror and his mouth agape. The tall Russian's presence seemed to go completely unnoticed, and that's when Matthew realised it was unnoticed. As if only Matthew was capable of seeing him. Matthew corrected himself, no not capable, but _allowed_.

He had walked right into Ivan's Braginski's hand.

Just like he knew he would.

Scene .iii

"_You know I would have been able to handle it right?"_

"_Of course no one doubts you-"_ the Russian woman paused as she hiccoughed. _"I just didn't want to wait to go to bed any longer."_

Natalia stayed quiet during the exchange. Her cool eyes trained back on her older sister figure. Katyusha swayed a bit as she walked towards her bed. The Prussian shrugged after her.

"_Well, it was funny seeing all those faces_." He laughed outright; his walk was full on stumbling forward. _"I don't think I'll ever forget…"_ He fell onto his bed. Natalia wasn't so sure about him remembering tonight's events.

"_Let's get some sleep…"_ Katyusha began as her eyelids droop down. Natalia shook her head in disappointment of the two.

Natalia stood in the room as the two other occupants fell asleep. Gilbert's snore quickly filled the room, overpowering Katyusha's soft breathing. The youngest of the trio walked up to Katyusha's bed. She pulled the covers up to the woman's chin. Smiling softly as Katyusha mumbled a thank you in her sleep. It was very much like her.

The noblewoman knelt down to Katyusha's bag pulling out the rosary. She never had to pray by herself before. But she wasn't going to wake Katyusha up for it.

Standing up to her feet she tried to tie the beads around the way Katyusha does in preparation for their prayers. Thinking that it looked right, she knelt down in front of her own bed.

Katyusha's instructions from years ago filled her head as she clasped her hands together in a ball.

_Prayers are wishes._

She closed her eyes.

_And you wish to whatever makes you feel safe._

She let out the breath she didn't realise she was holding.

_Just speak naturally, as you would to a very dear friend…_

Behind her closed eyelids she pictured her one love. He was smiling at her. On her knees she began mumbling underneath her breath.

"_You died to protect me. And even in death you refuse to leave me in danger." _

Memories tried to break through her calm surface but she continued along.

"_I want to avenge you. I want to make sure nobody else has to suffer like I did I want-"_

Her breath hitched, tears started falling from her eyes. They were open now as she stared off into darkness.

"_I want you here, Toris. You were supposed to be by my side forever. Like you said you would…"_

Her hands fell apart and she threw her head into the bed, muffling any more noise her tears would make. She noticed that the snores had stopped.

Gilbert laid in his bed awake. He couldn't help but listen to the girl's quiet pleas. He suppressed the urge to sigh. He felt responsible. He could have stopped that boy from doing anything rash but he didn't.

What felt like an eternity of sitting in still silence, was it broken by Katyusha suddenly gasping and jolting upright in bed. Natalia was by her side, a small flash, of what looked to Gilbert seemed like a common electric shock passed, when she touched Katyusha's hand.

In despair, tears glistening in the darkness, Katyusha cried out.

"_He's feeding!"_

_

* * *

_

I was going to have this chapter a lot longer. But I really liked this cliff hanger too much to pass up. *shot*

I'm sorry if some of the religious issues bother anyone, eh? I really don't mean to offend. Oh, and would this fic be considered Sci-fi or fantasy?

…So…Does this chapter count as shit finally hitting the fan?

I've had plot bunnies circling around my head for my next multi-chapter project. I'm kind of torn in between two ideas…But I think I'm leaning more towards Pirate!TeaxMaple for the next story. What do you guys think? Any requests? I'm taking them.

My favourite scene in this chapter has to be Ukraine taking a camera shot for an add with the empty bottle of vodka. XD

**Review if you have a request AND / OR if you like my story! THANK YOU~~~3**

Translations:

Катюша Katyusha

Иванушка Little Ivan

Thanks to CSI

"_Ah, comme il est beau Mathieu! Il ressemble à ton grand-père…_" "Oh ! How handsome ! He reminds me of your grandfather…"

"_Mais je suis sérieux, tu es plus beaux que beaucoup de femmes ! Vous trouverez qu'il n'y aurait pas de femme qui voudrait vous marriez…_" "But I'm serious, your more beautiful than any woman. I think you'll find that none will want to marry you…"


	10. Act 10: The Feeding

P.S : OMG THANKS FOR THE AMAZING RESPONSE GUYS! SRS!

Last post before X-mas so, MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! I LOVE YOU GUYS! And if I don't get anything posted before, and a happy new year as well! Please consider this as your present guys! And I give presents even to people who don't celebrate Christmas. So please accept it! \*3*/

And kisses for everyone! … especially the ones who refuse the present XD

Disclaimer: I still don't own Hetalia, do you think if I was especially good one year Santa would give it to me? XD

* * *

Bullets with Butterfly Wings

Act 10

The Feeding

Scene .i

His heartbeat filled his ears. Matthew felt sweat drip down his forehead. His palm felt clammy, and his eyes were still locked with Ivan's purple ones. The Russian was smiling calmly, but there was a hint of sinister in it.

Ivan lifted his hand, his index finger covered his lips signalling Matthew to remain quiet. The boy swallowed.

The hand fell, past his mother's face, seemingly caressing a frame around her head. She didn't even blink. Matthew flinched violently though. The descriptions on how the Russian killed his victims screamed in Matthew's mind.

He understood the movement, it was plain. Be silent or else.

Matthew knew he wouldn't make a sound even if someone pushed him down at that very moment. Ivan smile turned into a smirk, his eyes seemed to widen and Matthew questioned the already questionable sanity behind the purple eyes.

And then the Russian tilted his head. His mouth opened, mouthing words that seemed to be whispered into Matthew's mind.

"I'll meet you outside, Matvey."

The Canadian's throat was suddenly dry. But he held back a growl. His teeth were clenched tightly together, but then the Russian's eyes flickered back down to Michelle. It was enough to cause Matthew to take a step forward, the word 'no' on the tip of his tongue. He looked at his mother fear and concern mixed into an intangible mess. She really was too beautiful, why had he never taken the time to truly appreciate it?

Ivan's hand lifted once again in the air, the childish smile returned as his eyes closed into slits on his face. The hand cut through the air pointing at the door. The other hand was firmly placed but relaxed on the woman's chair.

This was it. Matthew realised in a daze. He moved towards the door, his eyes blank, moving automatically through the crowd. He was walking towards his own grave.

A hand fell on his shoulder he bit his own tongue not to let out a scream. The metallic taste of his own blood mixed with the sharp pain shocked him out of his stupor. But his mother was still in _his_ clutches. So he smiled.

"Yes, Sir Smith?"

"Should you be going out Matthew…?"

The smile didn't waver. Despite how his insides screamed at him to beg the man in front of him for help, to save his mother, to save him, but the smile remained. "It's a bit stuffy in here, just going out for a breath."

_My last one?_

The man nodded. "Don't be out long boy…" And then the man left, and Matthew's feet began moving on their accord, his whole body just felt so incredibly heavy. It was if the eyes that never left him were draining him dry with every step he took.

Once out the door, he looked around him. He worried that the reason no one was outside was because of the man inside…He walked down the steps, he didn't dare look over his shoulder. But once he reached the end of the walkway, he turned around.

Ivan Braginski was standing at the top steps in front of the closed door.

_Now_ was his chance! Ivan can't do anything to his mother. Matthew would yell and someone will rush out! But as he took a breath to scream Ivan was suddenly on him. His large hand covered Matthew's mouth, muffling whatever sound planned on making its way out of the young Canadian.

Tears started to sting Matthew's eyes. He didn't want to die! Why didn't he yell when he had the chance? Why didn't he stay with Arthur?

But the one question that weighed on his heart, the one question with the answer as to why he would die tonight...

_Why did Ivan Braginski choose me?_

He struggled against the older man, pushing against Ivan's chest trying to break free, trying to breathe as the hand smothered half his face. He only stopped in his pitiful attempts when Ivan's grip tightened dangerously around Matthew's wrist.

"Calm down."

The thick Russian accent only enforced his order. Matthew froze, a sudden unease of numbness taking over him. Black spots appeared in his vision as it started to blur from the lack of oxygen. Matthew closed his eyes and grudgingly allowed his consciousness to fade away.

Ivan Braginski loosened his grip on Matthew. He looked round and checked the vicinity. None would follow. Lifting the boy up, he stalked away.

He refused to let anyone interrupt him; the Russian hid his presence from all. Once they were out of ear shot of Matthew's house, the neighbourhood was deadly quiet. The boy groaned in his sleep. Ivan couldn't hold back the pent up excitement much longer.

He was thirsty.

Ivan eyes glowed red under the last streetlight, he turned a corner and found sanctuary in a deserted alley. Pushing Matthew to the wall Ivan's eyes roamed up and down the boy's figure. The light from the main street was enough to illuminate Matthew's pale and flawless skin. Ivan licked his lips.

He lowered his face to the boy's neck, he stopped. Breathing Matthew's scent, he raised his lips to Matthew's ear. He could feel the boy shiver in his grasp.

"Matvey. Wake up."

And Matthew did so with full force. His eyes snapped open as if he never even slept in the first place. He struggled and fought like a caged animal. Ivan gave him another good shove against the wall, to temporary stun Matthew's movements. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Ivan spoke.

"If you draw blood Matvey, it's all over."

Matthew froze. It was if all of his ridiculous ideas were true. He thought back to the first evening. He knew what Ivan was, what just happened confirm everything. He knew the truth, but there no point. He was trapped. He knew this and Ivan knew it too.

_Damn vampire._

Ivan chuckled, this time Matthew wasn't surprised, along with completely masking his presence, his side theory that Ivan could read minds was also true.

"Not entirely, Matvey…Only sometimes, when you let your guard down…"

Matthew could only glare at him, cursing at the Russian, wishing he could do so out loud, but the overbearing hand still covered the lower half of his face; barely letting enough air through for the Canadian to breath.

His glare was caught off guard as the look in Ivan's eyes softened slightly, the red turned back into the violet Matthew had first seen that night at the cafe. He really hated it, it made Ivan almost look …human.

Ivan rested his forehead against Matthew's. Their eyes were locked within each other's. The violet ones were strangely warm. The Russian breathed against his own hand that covered Matthew's mouth. He spoke softly against it. The hand being the only thing that separated their lips from each other's, the boy could practically count each individual pale eye lashes. He spoke out the Russian derivative of Matthew's name softly, again and again. He stood like this, holding the Canadian against the wall, eyes closed as if in a prayer. Matthew was too shocked to think. And then finally Ivan lowered his face to the arch of the Canadian's neck…

"I promise you, it won't hurt…I won't hurt you…"

He kissed Matthew's neck. The boy felt his body shiver at the light touch and his face redden at the kiss. He could feel Ivan's smirk against his skin. And Matthew felt his face grow hotter, but this time with annoyance.

Ivan began slowly taunting that patch of skin he kissed, with his vision he watched how the skin turn red from the kisses and sucking. Matthew fought hard to keep his breathing under control, but his knees were shaking, proving to the Russian that his little Matvey was indeed a virgin to all his taunts.

The Canadian couldn't think only feel. Every nip, every positive and yet torturous sensation that spread from his neck to in between his legs, to his very soul. Goosebumps crawled up and down is back, his hands gripped onto Ivan's jacket for support, no longer trying to push away the vampire.

But the Russian has grown tired of waiting.

"How long I've waited for this!" He exclaimed, and Matthew's body jerked violently forward and then back when Ivan bit him. But the vampire proved himself right. The bite didn't hurt Matthew, no more than a second of pain when a strange sense of relief and ecstasy encompassed them both.

But then Matthew found he had even less control of his body than before. His knees completely gave way when a moan escaped his lips, the sound echoed in the alley since Ivan's hand had dropped from his mouth to the boy's waist pulling Matthew into him. Ivan held the boy up.

The hand that gripped Ivan's jacket fell loose to his side. He had no more strength. The ecstasy couldn't keep up with the violent bloodlust. Now his brain started to work again. The only thought that pulled him out of the vampire's trance was that he was going to die.

Someone needed to save him, or else Ivan would drain him dry. And it would be the end of Matthew Williams. His eyes were half lid; he could feel his tears fall freely down his face. His voice was completely gone no one would come.

Would Ivan rip Matthew's head off like the other corpses? Even in this sorry state Matthew hoped not. It wasn't a pretty corpse.

Trapped in his morbid thoughts. He barely registered when Ivan's hands had traveled up his shirt, or when he even started unbuttoning it. The next thing he knew, was looking into red orbs. Ivan had stopped to take a breath, he was panting with how much he had drank in one go. Ivan's lips dripped with Matthew's blood.

Ivan's eyes dropped to take in Matthew's weak form. He could barely contain a maniacal laughter. Matthew won't be killing him. Ivan felt stronger than ever. His eyes roamed over Matthew's bare chest, to the blood dripping from his neck. It dripped down past his collar bone over right chest, just passing by a pink nipple.

Ivan leaned down and licked the trail of blood pausing over the nipple, sucking on it, smiling against it as Matvey jerked, and another sound of pleasure escaped his lips. Ivan licked the wound on the neck. He brought his face up to look at Matvey's.

The boy was weak, but still conscious. His eyes that had closed when Ivan tongue roamed opened and met his. To Ivan's greatest pleasure, there was still a spark of defiance in the deep mauve eyes.

'_Fucking hoser.'_

The thought drifted from Matthew's mind into Ivan's. The Russian laughed. The sound resonated deeply in his chest. He knew how much Matthew would love to use his lips, but the Russian had a better use for it than what little Matvey planned its use for.

Ivan's lips glistened with Matthew's blood, the Canadian's eyes went wide when he realised the Russian's plan. Their lips met. And Matthew was too weak to pull away. Ivan had complete dominance over his mouth. Exploring every nook and spreading the metallic taste everywhere. Ivan kissed him. Matthew's first kiss was stolen by a vampire.

This, more than anything else, annoyed Matthew the most. It took all of his strength, to just turn his head away and snapping his mouth shut. But that wasn't enough for Matthew he collected the taste of Ivan in his mouth and forcefully spit it out. Failing a bit in his attempt more drool mixed with blood dripped down his own chin.

The Russian patiently wiped it away.

He pulled Matthew's head back, tilting the chin up so he had to look up into Ivan's eyes.

"You're mine Matthew."

And that's how the Canadian knew it was the end. The vampire had never once called him Matthew, so it must be a signal that the monster will finish the job.

_But…I'm not ready to die…_

"Nobody is ever ready Matthew…"

_Great…_The Canadian nearly laughed at his own sarcasm. Of course he'd be sarcastic at the end. He closed his eyes and waited for death to come in a pair of taunting lips, being placed softly back onto his neck.

But then with a sudden flash of light, Matthew was on the ground. He knew he was still alive because of the pain on his knees and face for suddenly being let go. He couldn't open his eyes, and he could barely hear what took place. He heard an animalistic type of hissing belonging to Ivan he guessed. And then he heard a voice speaking in a strange language. A brief conversation, and then he was alone.

Somehow Matthew knew Ivan was gone. And the relief was so much that he allowed himself to drift off into unconsciousness.

Scene .ii

The Canadian awoke in his bed. The sun was bright in his room. And it comforted him greatly. He felt safe in warm rays; despite how it stung his eyes from just waken from blissful darkness. He was content lying there, it was like he had not a care in the world. Then the events out of nightmare returned.

If he could he would've jumped upright out of his bed. But he discovered that he was too weak from the blood loss. It was only then that he realised that there were other people in the room. And one voice was addressing him.

"Mathieu! Dieu merci!"

It was Francis, with his exclamation everyone in the room began speaking to him, the collective voices were loud. And the Canadian's head pounded. With his eyes squinting open he saw his mother's face hovering over him.

"Mathieu! Mon bébé d'amour! Mon cœur! Mon âme ! Dieu merci que tu es sauf ! Dieu merci ! »

She threw herself on him and he supressed a groan. He didn't want to worry her any more than se already was, but she was immediately but gently pulled away by Arthur. "Mrs. Williams, Matthew is still very weak, we can't overexert him-"

But he was suddenly interrupted by a voice Matthew didn't recognize. "We need everyone out of the room right now."

"You have no right to order us around."

"If you've forgotten, we saved his life so maybe the feeling indebted should come to mind."

Alfred made a noise that definitely sounded displeased. But now Matthew's curiosity was riled up. That and the surprise of actually being alive brought him out fully from his daze. The Canadian's mind was fully alert, while his body was still physically drained, literally, dry of any strength.

Matthew heard a soft voice, but he couldn't even move his head to see the strangers.

"I don't like it any more than you do Alfred, but, we owe them our gratitude." Arthur's voice of reason cut through the tight atmosphere. "So I ask that we vacate the room." There was a shuffling sound and now Matthew was worried of how many people were in his room in the first place. He thought he recognised one of his father's co-worker's wife…The list seemed long.

At last the room was quiet after the people moved downstairs. The man from earlier spoke again.

"When I said everyone I meant everyone."

"We are Matthew's closest friends and relatives, I think it would be too much on your part to ask us to leave as well." Arthur interjected again. Alfred grunted his agreement. A familiar hand went over his own. He realised it was his mother's. Matthew looked to her and saw that his father stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder looking gravely down at Matthew. He caught his father's eye and tried to give him a reassuring smile. He kind of succeeded, but when he opened his mouth to speak it came out as an inaudible croak.

The soft voice spoke again. And this time Matthew heard the woman, but she was speaking in a different language with a sort of dread, he thought Russian.

"Fine, she says she doesn't mind."

Gilbert Beildsehmit glared at the weird collection of people. An Englishman, Canadians, an American and a Frenchman. Weirdest bunch he came across, normally it was him leading the strange packs. Katyusha actually said it would be best if only the closest people to the boy –Mattie was his name, right?–stayed in the room. But the Prussian never liked making things easy for people not as awesome as he.

His red eyes watched as Katyusha stood opposite to the boy's parents. She brought her right hand down onto his forehead; her left hand clenched the green beads. Gilbert saw mauve calculating eyes flicker towards her.

Her voice resonated around the room, it seemed to fill every space. Gilbert wasn't surprise to see everyone visibly relax. Her voice was bells on a calm winter day. Serene and strong. He was sure that no one else could see it, since they were all distracted by her voice. The beads glowed a pale light, barely visible in the sunlight.

He felt Natalia shift on her foot beside him. He sighed, she was anxious, but it was to be expected. But Gilbert took the sunny day as a good sign.

With him here everything will turn out just fine.

Natalia eyes couldn't seem to decide what to glare at, the window that led to the outside where _he_ was, or the boy, the boy who would draw _him_ back. And at the same time the boy drew her curiosity. From what Katyusha said, Ivan was drawn to him the same he was first drawn to Natalia. Did that mean they were similar in anyway? They _looked_ completely different…

Feeling the familiar red eyes on her, she knew Gilbert was wondering the same. She couldn't help but send a cold glare his way. She knew she was being insulted by him on the inside by just looking at him. And she was right. Gilbert was thinking along the same lines as the Russian girl. From the family and friends description of the boy, he was as sweet as an angel, while Natalia was just a complete bitch. He mumbled to himself.

"_**I guess his taste improved…"**_

She elbowed him, her glare more violent than before. He glared back silently mouthing to her.

"_What was that for?"_

Natalia just turned her head away.

Katyusha stopped speaking, she removed her hand softly from Matthew's face, brushing away a stray strand out his eyes. She looked at the woman and man across her and spoke in her Slavic tongue.

"He will be alright." Gilbert translated. Michelle was so relieved that she threw herself on her son again. This time a smile was on Matthew's face. The Canadian felt a lot better. And all the men in the room let out the breath they were holding. Francis who was sitting on a chair by the window stood to his feet. He walked around the table and knelt in front of Katyusha.

"I am eternally grateful, mademoiselle. If there is anything this lowly man can do for an angel please do not hesitate to ask."

Katyusha's head automatically turned for a Translation. The Prussian shook his head. "_Sorry too corny for me to even bother._ Basically he owes you one."

She nodded at the Frenchman. But her eyes went back to the boy in the bed. Her blue eyes met his mauve coloured ones. She had to repress a sigh. Those colours, they reminded her too much of her _.

"Please inform him and his family that he needs his rest, spiritually he is safe but physically it will take him time to recover."

The Prussian nodded. "Ok, the kid needs sleep, so let him be." Everyone exchanged glances. All were reluctant to leave. Gilbert swore in German.

"Look, Braginski isn't coming anywhere near him, not while we're in the house. And anyways, let's just say he doesn't want to come out at this time of day."

Matthew's gut squeezed uncomfortably. His eyes went back to his mother; he saw the bags under hers and his father's eyes. He forced himself to speak.

"Ma', Père, reposez-vous, tout va bien."

He sent a quiet plea in his eyes to his father. And the man nodded, while his mother was ready to full on disagree with the statement that all was well when it was obviously a full blown lie. But Stephan cleared her out with a stern look, and she kept her mouth shut, but Matthew and Stephan both knew he would be getting it in their room, while she went to take a well deserved rest.

Matthew's raspy voice spoke. "Al…"

"I'm here Mattie." And Alfred was by his side, knowing exactly what his cousin asked for in that one sound. He help his cousin to sit up, Arthur was about to scold him when he saw that Matthew was trying his best to get into a sitting position.

Now the Canadian felt more comfortable. Especially since Al had the foresight to bring his needed glasses.

All eyes were on him and Matthew looked at everyone at respective turns. His eyes ended and stayed on the three strangers. He cleared his throat and suddenly Arthur pointed to the tea, on the bed side table. Al was sitting on the bed beside his cousin. Matthew was leaning on his form and the bed frame. The American with a grimace passed the tea to Matthew, helping him drink it.

Honestly Matthew was surprised everyone was so patient, it was rare that he was the center of attention in such a big group.

His eyes were sharp as he looked at the albino.

"When you mean this time of day, you mean it because Ivan Braginski is a vampire."

Katyusha looked surprised, but the albino shrugged. "If that's what you believe…"

"I believe it because it's the truth isn't it?"

And it was with those words that Gilbert really looked at the Canadian. He was exhausted but his eyes were alit with truth that he had to uncover the hard way, but he still wanted the reassurance that he wasn't alone, which is why Gilbert decided that Mattie was only 'almost awesome'.

"Yes."

Now Francis and Alfred woke up from their stupor. Alfred being the one to laugh without any trace of humour only disbelief, Francis seemed to follow his lead.

"Wait what about things that don't exist?"

"I will have to agree, we are dealing with a man, truly insane and evil, but a man nonetheless."

Arthur stood quietly in his corner, his grandfather's cane in his hand as his arms were crossed over his chest. He watched the three strangers with attentive eyes.

"Hey, I didn't ask if that's what you believed." The Prussian shrugged. His eyes returned to the Canadian. "What do you want to know?"

Alfred and Francis interrupted at the same time. "Mattie doesn't need to know anything about vampires-"

"Enough with the horror stories-"

Everyone in the room jumped at the sound of the cane slapping against Arthur's hand. His green eyes were alit with an unspoken fury.

"I want to know how to get rid of this vampire."

He started, his hard eyes were enough of a translation for Natalia and Katyusha.

"I want to know why he's here and why the in bloody hell would he be after Matthew in the first place. I want answers."

Gilbert looked away from the Englishman his eyes went back to the Canadian, making it obvious that it was his call. Matthew swallowed, he had never seen his childhood friend so mad for his sake. But he looked at the Prussian his meek nature seemed to have finally caught back up to him.

"Yeah. That."

* * *

O wow. That was quick. (I actually wrote it right after chapter 9 so yeah .) Somebody requested for a rated M scene. And I can't write porn for shite so I hope this scene was sufficient for all of your fangirl needs. (now I'm gonna go die in a corner from shame and lack of skillz) by the way that really was the most I had ever written I nearly died multiple times overs, and maybe MAYBE I could have gone all the way, but my inner pervert still frightens the hell out of me so yeah, STOPTHISTRAINWRECKIMEDIETLY!

So that was your Christmas present. 2000 ish words of RUSCAN ALMOST smut. 8D *shot*

But I AM TAKING REQUESTS, I CAN DO ANY PAIRING. CRACK OR NO CRACK, I REALLY DON'T GIVE A DAMN.

SO PLEASE ASK FOR SOMETHING! (…other than the next chapter XD)

It will be a selection process if there's a bunch, I'll take the ones that muses my interest the most~ 3

So again.

LOVE YOU GUYS! I WISH YOU ALL THE BEST FOR CHRISTMAS AND THE NEW YEAR. MAY IT BE FILLED WITH MANY CHAPTERS (_ofgivingin_) OF AMAZING HETALIANESS.

REMEMBER. LONG LIVE THE FANDOM.

WE WILL SOME DAY TAKE OVER THE WORLD…while shouting "becomeonewithrussiaplz!"


	11. Act 11: The Past revealed part 1

Bullets with Butterfly Wings

Act 11

The Past Revealed part 1

Scene .i

Russia 8 years earlier

By the time Ivan had completely finished dressing Yao's wounds, the oriental man was deep asleep. The Russian now sat on the chair beside him. A strange feeling had lodged itself at the bottom of his stomach. He was unused to it, such a feeling he has never experienced before.

He watched the man sleep, grateful that it was soundly. Yao looked completely at ease. It was then that Ivan had realised that he skipped some of his morning choirs. Oh! And Yao will probably be hungry once he gets up…

Ivan stood to his feet and moved out of the room careful to not open the door too widely. The cool winter air met his face and he shivered. It was hard coming in and out of the cold. The Russian preferred to stay outside most of the day as not to torture himself with the want of staying in.

Walking across the centre of the yard, he saw his sister before she yelled out to him.

"_Иванушка! _Little Ivan!" A smile graced her face, making her look more beautiful than ever. Ivan smiled back. They ran to meet each other and his sister did as she always did, she jumped into his arms and hugged him, causing the two to fall in the snow.

They laughed gently as they lay in the snow. Katyusha giggled as she spoke to her dearest little brother.

"Ivan, have you done your morning choirs yet? The sisters said you can come join us for mass today."

The young man smiled happily. "Really [Sister?] That is kind of them!" But then he remembered Yao, his smile fell. "Ah but I have a lot to do today…" He needed an excuse. He wasn't sure if he should tell his dearest sister of the wounded stranger. Not yet at least, she was very protective and was prone to cry a lot, so, Ivan decided it would be best to keep it to himself. He'll tell her if he needs to. Nodding his resolution he added his excuse. "I slept in late today so I haven't gotten the firewood yet."

Katyusha blinked. It was rare that Ivan slept in late, but her brother did do a lot of work and today should be a day of rest…

"Alright Ivan, there will be a warm supper waiting for you tonight, you shall eat with us."

The woman sat up and started to pat herself clean of snow, a small smile played on her lips. Kissing her brother farewell, she ran back to the church as the bells began to ring.

Ivan smiled at her retreating form, to him his sister was the most precious of all things. She was good. She was an angel, but most of all she was his saviour. He stood up to his feet, thanking God from the bottom of his heart for giving him such a wonderful sister. He made his way to the kitchen, finding no one in there he moved quickly and grabbed some food. He didn't feel bad because the sisters knew that Ivan was a bit of a glutton who snacked often, and since they knew and didn't mind Ivan figured it meant he was allowed.

He made his way back to the courtyard, passing by the snow prints of where he and sister fell. Finding himself by Yao's side he placed the food down and then stared into the man's face.

The feeling from earlier returned, and as before it settled in his stomach and seemed to warm up his face and chest. There was something amazing about the man. A strength and nobility even while he slept Ivan knew he was dealing with someone who should be considered great.

He gnawed his lower lip, but not just great- someone beautiful. Beauty unlike any he had ever seen before –his sister was beautiful that was true but it was a whole different kind of beauty. Katyusha was spring. She was happy and vibrant -bursting with life. While this man, Yao, was autumn.

Ivan blinked and wondered what he meant by that.

Fall is a beautiful season, full of colours, but at the same time its wind could cut through your skin, the nights become colder and the days become shorter…maybe it was that, despite it signalling the end, there was undeniable beauty in the season.

The Russian wanted Yao to open his eyes.

Undeniable beauty.

"_My brother and I were raised by nuns, the two of us had lost our parents at a very young age. But we were together and we were happy."_

Kiku woke up with a jolt. His dark eyes looked to the sky from where he sat on the bed. The sky was turning orange and red -sunset. He felt his neck ache from the bite; rubbing it soothingly he checked his surroundings.

Gilbert was nowhere to be seen, but all of their things were still present. So Kiku knew that the Prussian shouldn't be gone for long.

The man sat there for a long moment just thinking, until his thoughts were finally interrupted by a whine from his stomach. Getting up he decided to eat, all he could do was wait patiently for Gilbert's arrival.

And wait for the night to fall.

The sun's last light seemed to stretch over the land as if it regretted leaving the white landscape, the world had changed colours with its setting, but now that it was gone- all traces of its warmth disappeared with its light. But it was a clear night, bright with stars and a full moon.

Yao blinked and the sky was gone. Instead he was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, hearing the crackling of a fireplace.

He turned his head, his chest ached with the wound Kiku and that man had inflicted upon him. But it was worth it, Yao thought, the taste of Kiku's blood was worth it.

He moaned at the thought.

He just laid there remembering the taste until he heard the door open. The cool winter air flickered the flames, and Yao shivered. The man from earlier entered the room and closed out the cold. He was muttering in Russian but Yao was too surprised to translate it in his mind. He was staring intently at the man.

Ivan felt the stare but still managed to be surprise when wide gold orbs met his violet eyes. Maybe it was because Ivan felt over whelmed by the man, who looked younger but infinitely older while Ivan himself has always considered himself childish.

"(Hello)" He began shyly, the man was eerily quiet for a long moment before returning the greeting. "(Hello, hello)" Yao kept his eyes on Ivan and the Russian shifted uncomfortably under the stare.

Earlier he wanted to see Yao's eyes but now he just felt embarrassed. "Are-Are you alright?" Ivan broke the silence but avoided Yao's eyes.

Yao thought the question was funny, but he didn't laugh. No, he wasn't alright, his wounds ached and his want of blood was strong. It was difficult to not throw himself out of bed and attack the Russian right then and there. But Yao knew what Ivan was, a farmer, a worker, someone who spent his winters cutting down trees for warmth and the rest of the year working in fields. It was people like that who are hard to kill. They fight back. And in his weakened state there was no way the vampire could outmatch this burly Russian.

". . .I'm hungry." Was all he said after a long (and even more so) uncomfortable silence. Ivan nodded and then moved closer to Yao, the food that he had gotten earlier ready and still warm. "Here," he picked up the plate and was ready to feed Yao, like his sister has done to him before when Ivan would fall sick. Yao shook his head, he decided then and there that this Russian wasn't very bright. "I want to eat something else. . .Something my homeland eat." His Russian was kind of broken. Ivan's scent caught him off guard.

"Oh?" At this Ivan looked honestly curious and excited. Something from China? He wondered if it was any good? Ivan missed the way Yao licked his lips before continuing. "Do…do you have any live cattle? Anything that lives?"

The young man furrowed his brow together but answered anyway. "Do you mean like chicken? If so the pen is right next to us." Ivan did notice the way Yao had scooted away from him, his nose scrunched up slightly. Ivan felt bad because he hasn't bathed in a couple of days.

Yao nodded, "bring me one." Ivan felt compelled to do what Yao had just told him. That his legs need to move and step out back in the cold and find a chicken immediately; but reason made him pause as well as his surprise. "A chicken?"

The gold coloured orbs caught his eyes again, and there was a dark light within them that made Ivan stand up just as Yao spoke. "Now."

"_But you see, something happened, something. . .Ivan was hiding something from me. And I knew, and because it was rare and normally only silly things that he hid from me I pressed him to tell me."_

"Ivan?"

The Russian jumped, and turned around to see his sister. "Katyusha!" His voice squeaked a bit as he nearly dropped the chicken in his arms; the squeak was like every time she caught him stealing a treat. The woman looked at her brother in confusion. "What are you doing in here?" She asked referring to the chicken pen that the two of them filled up.

His eyes wavered and he couldn't meet hers.

"What are you not telling me, little brother?" She smiled at him, finding the situation unusual but then again it was Ivan and sometimes he did strange things. But he swallowed nervously and her smile faltered slightly. She called out his name again and Ivan went to her, making sure the chicken was trapped and still in his arms.

Biting his lip, he didn't know what to tell her. A piece of him wanted to tell her, but another part of him wanted to keep Yao a secret. And this part felt strange like he was compelled to keep the secret, but normally he would tell Katyusha what was wrong, especially now that Yao was going to make Chinese food…

His sister read him like an open book. She smiled gently and put her hand on his shoulder. "Ivan if you can't tell me, then show me."

That was all he needed, he moved past her and went into his cabin his sister following closely behind him. Yao was sitting up straight on the bed, but completely wrapped up in the blankets, he was panting slightly the pain from the wound was apparent. His eyes were closed, even when Katyusha closed the door behind them.

She looked on curiously at the oriental man. He was beautiful, but there was something...Something wrong. She swallowed nervously and took a protective step in front of her brother. "(Hello)" Her voice was quiet, but strong. Ivan looked a bit surprised, and stared at his sister's shorter form.

Yao's eyes snapped open, the gold orbs wide and the iris shrinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. The voice seemed to cut open his wounds. He set himself, to not give anything away he smiled and looked at her. "(Hello), hello, I am Yao."

"_Yao was…was beautiful for a man. He looked flawless but- but I knew there something wrong about him. His eyes cut me like the wind…but for Ivan and for the stranger's sake, I allowed him to stay. We were used to hosting strangers, wounded travelers. And that was how my mind had to perceive him. But in my heart I knew he wasn't just an unfortunate traveler. He was much more than that…"_

A holy woman. Ivan had brought him a holy woman. Someone's whose touch burned his skin like the sun. someone's whose voice echoed within the darkness, who triggered his most beast-like instincts, the ones that drove his kind to insanity and bloodlust.

Yao made up his lies carefully, he had already planned them while Ivan was away.

The vampire within him wanted to flee and kill at the same time. Wanted to drive a stake through her heart and make her watch as he feasted upon Ivan's blood. See her eyes lose their splendour and colour as they darken and die.

They didn't have much choice but to accept them.

And once his bloodlust was satisfied and the woman dead…

"Yao, will you be making food now?"

The chicken clucked from its place still in Ivan's arms. Yao grimaced inwardly at the idea of drinking the animal's blood, but looking back and forth from the man and woman in the room, he strained a smile.

"I shall rest for the remainder of the night; you two as well should retire too, aru. It is late."

It took a while for Ivan to convince Katyusha to leave, but he eventually succeeded. But the holy woman had succeeded in catching Yao's eyes as she walked out the door. Her eyes (a blue grey that reminded him of a cloudy sky) nearly made him shudder, but he caught himself. He wouldn't die here, not now that he had a chance.

Just like how he knew that she was Holy, he could see in her eyes the confusion and apprehension at him. Her inner most instinct telling her that Yao was wrong. How so? She obviously didn't know.

And once again, Ivan and Yao were alone in the room.

Dawn was welcomed in Katyusha's eyes. She awoke when the night sky began to lighten; her sleep was fragile and easily stirred. Her mind was focused on Yao. She had never met someone who…Her throat felt caught in itself. He was different from everyone she had met before. That was all just different.

She clamped her hands together, as if in prayer, but it looked more like a nervous habit at the moment. Her chest heaved, she wanted to cry and she didn't even know why- but then again she has always been easy to push to tears. Happiness, sadness, anger…But this was different this was…

Fear.

She lifted herself off of her bed and knelt in front of it, keeping her hands together she lifted them to her face, and closed her eyes as a tear fell down her angelic face.

"_Ave Maria."_

"_The next day, I had plans to visit the village. A child was sickly, and they called upon the church for aid. I was sent, the sisters said the child wouldn't live but at least I could soothe her pain with my presence. I was honoured that they believed in me-but after having met Yao I was shaken. The sun was slowly falling behind the horizon when I finished my visit with the child. I decided to calm my nerves, I ended up at the inn Gilbert and Kiku were staying at."_

"Sister, it's nice to see you again."

She smiled at the inn keeper. Sitting at the bar, and he came by and gave her the usual. "We have an interesting relationship do we not?"

She took a long sip, "It is only water."

"Russian water doesn't qualify as water, Sister."

She gave him a pouty glare and then sighed, knowing this was her greatest vice and she had so easily succumbed to it…again. "You are kind to me inn keeper."

"You are only human, sister. And I do not judge my fellow person. -That I'll leave to Him."

She smiled but tears managed to appear in her eyes. "Yes, to Him. You are wise, inn keeper perhaps you should have become a Preacher." He laughed, the smile appeared in his eyes with a knowing light.

"I love my wife too much to have given up on her and children of my own. Not all wise men should lock themselves in a Church. "

She drank more, his words reached her. Do not judge your fellow person. Did she judge Yao? Is she making a judgement on him without even meaning too? She clenched her shirt over her heart. But that feeling it still haunted her-

She shuddered at the memory and the lingering feelings of 'wrong'.

Her glass was empty. Her face paler than usual. She rubbed her temples, she needed to calm down, she had to go back to the nunnery and her head ached,

-after one more drink.

And it was after she had drank her second glass of vodka as she placed it on the table did she see him. Her startled jump made the glass fall to the ground with a clang. Her face was pale with fear-

Cool eyes met hers, and she relaxed immediately. It wasn't him- It wasn't Yao. But- it was an oriental man. Hair darker than night, framed a pale face. But it wasn't gold coloured eyes that met her pale blue ones. These were a cool but warm brown -like wood of a strong tree. It was reassuring. She sighed and relaxed considerably. In her panic she hadn't even realised that the inn keeper was speaking to her, concern apparent. And even the stranger looked worried for her, but this worry didn't seem to last long as he marched up to her.

But this look didn't frighten her, in fact she still felt incredibly relieved to see him, as if this man was an old friend. No, more like her ally.

He spoke to her, in a language that made both her and the inn keeper raise eyebrows in confusion. The man gave a small frustrated sound, and then suddenly took her hand. With the small contact of skin, Katyusha felt all her earlier fear wash away. She felt overcome by the earlier sense of relief. This, this was right.

He looked her in the eye, and spoke only one word.

"Yao?"

End of Act 11

A short chapter. I'm full of fail. OTL

Hey everyone see I'm still alive, (ahem not for long) I'm so sorry that this chapter had taken forver for me to write! The truth is my mused completely died and then I've been waiting for its revival when it suddenly hit me a couple days ago. (Another muse had to die for this one to be revived, irony much?) By the way guys -I think watching Supernatural helped this muse come back to life. *hugs Sam and Dean*

Also this chapter was so hard to write at some parts I was like "I'M GOING IN BLIND GAAAH!" And there was so much China, I've never wrote anything with China in it before…But I definitely wanted him to be badass, to me China has to be a badass seke. I hope I succeeded. =w=;;

And Ukraine. God I love her, I hope I'm doing her justice. By making her drunk nun. OTL

Well I'm still going in blind, this whole past thing wasn't part of my original plans but then yeah, you guys gave me ideas and now I love it and my vague idea is harder to write than I thought it would be.

Well I'm ready for slaughtering *offers self* have fun.

PS. This has been sitting on my desktop for a couple weeks now, I've been wondering if I should write more and then now its Canada day and I'm like, Screw it people are getting what I'm giving.


	12. Act 12: Natalya's Interlude

Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, nor do I own the song by Smashing Pumpkins.

* * *

Bullets with Butterfly Wings

Act 12

Natalya's interlude

* * *

Yao could hear the Holy woman's heartbeat as it retreated. Yao's attention was torn between the Russian's pulsing veins, and the living chicken in Ivan's arms. He needed a drink and he needed it now. The Asian extended his hand towards the Russian.

Ivan had watched his sister leave, he wondered what was bothering her. He looked back at Yao, and saw that he was waiting for the chicken. He smiled. "How would you like it prepared?" Yao stared down the Russian.

"It is late, you should rest… I can take care of my own meal."

Ivan shook his head politely and then stared down at the still clucking chicken in his arms. The least he could do for the wounded traveler was make him supper, despite his dislike for killing anything... Suddenly a shifting movement caught Ivan's eyes and the Russian looked up and was aghast to see Yao sitting up- well trying to stand up now!

"No, please, you are too weak-"

Ivan stopped mid-sentence, the look Yao had given him at the word 'weak' turned his blood cold. Gently, and all too slowly, Yao extended his hand. "Give it to me. And then leave, boy."

Ivan found himself doing as he was told, the gold eyes seemed to control his body. With one last pitiful glance at the bird clucking in fright, Ivan turned away and walked out of the cabin. Closing the door behind him, the spell was broken and Ivan collapsed against the door shivering in the cold. He left his jacket inside but thought winter's bite was more welcoming than the room he just left.

He held himself to his knees, while he waited for his heart rate to return back to normal.

Alfred interrupted the story with a loud groan. "My god, why is this taking forever!? So Yao is the one who turns Ivan into a vampire. The End. Can we move onto the present now?"

A loud smack sounded across the room. Arthur just couldn't hold back as he hit the American on the back of his head. "No. I want to hear this from start to finish, now be a good boy or else I'll take out the belt."

"…" Alfred shifted uncomfortably, he could tell that Arthur was being one-hundred percent serious and decided he didn't want the angry Brit to chase him around Matthew's house with a belt. With another loud sigh, Alfred decided to get back at Arthur later, but settled in for hopefully the ending of the story.

"Fine. But can we have a lunch break or something? I'm starving."

Natalya glared at the man across the room. After Gilbert had translated their entire conversation, she decided she really disliked him. _Rude child, how could he think of food in this kind of setting._

But then suddenly a noise broke through a well-placed silence, and Natalya found herself blushing furiously -her stomach obviously disagreed with her.

With everyone staring at her, in slight surprise only Katyusha and Alfred faces broke in to a smile. (Because Katyusha likes to smile fondly whenever Natalya embarrasses herself.)

Alfred walked up and threw his arm over her shoulders. "See? I'm not the only one! Let's go get something to eat!"

She _elegantly_ dashed out from his arms and glared at the American. Her hands twitched towards her concealed knives. "_Touch me again, and I will kill you."_ She said murderously, what's the point in having handsome men in this world if they were useless pigs? ….Not that she thought the American was handsome.

She turned away, in case her treacherous face would blush.

Gilbert thought it better not to translate Natalya's threat.

"Food sounds like a good idea, and I think the kid needs his rest now anyways."

In reply Matthew spoke sternly. "I thank you for thinking of me, but I believe Miss Katyusha is also weary…" He glanced at the woman, still by his bedside giving her a reassuring smile that no language barrier could misunderstand.

Gilbert nodded and then glanced back at the American. Gilbert didn't have the guts to interrupt the story and he was rather glad that Alfred did. He could see it in Katyusha's eyes that she was getting tired and worn out…and she hadn't even gotten to the hardest part of the story. It hurt her like no human weapon could.

The strain in her smile kind of made Gilbert wish she would just cry instead, but no, once again Katyusha showed her strength, not even her voice wavered while she told these people her story.

And the boy Matthew wasn't looking much better, the albino was surprised he didn't just pass out with how weak he looked…But he alertly watched Katyusha with attentiveness, sometimes even gently holding her hand as she struggled with a part in her narration. Gilbert was surprise that the boy could notice.

Arthur after having threatened Alfred turned to glance at Francis. His friend didn't look very well, in fact he looked just as sickly as Matthew in that moment. The Frenchman looked dazed as if he was still trapped within the tale, feeling the Englishman's eyes on him, shocked him out of his stupor.

Recomposing himself, he gave Arthur a rather empty smile. "Oui, Arthur? Are you worried about me, I'm-" Francis swallowed and he knew that they both knew the next word was a lie. "-fine."

Arthur glared at Francis a moment longer and then cleared his throat.

"You are right, Mr. Beilschmidt. Bonnefoie and I will ask Mrs. Williams if she could prepare us a bite to eat. Come Francis."

_No use fighting_, so Francis just followed him out. He couldn't even gather the strength to say goodbye to Matthieu…He chided at himself, _what is this reaction? You would think the monster was hunting me…_

"Francis, you need to calm down. You were about to put yourself to shame. I would have asked you to leave with Mrs. Williams, if you were just going to cry like some child."

Arthur found himself pinned to the wall, Francis fist clenched around his shirt's collar. But the green eyes looked at the face inches in front of him coolly. Even in anger, Francis was a beautiful man.

Perhaps because it wasn't just anger on his face, it was mix of such conflicting emotions, that Arthur was surprised Francis didn't just break apart. Maybe that's what he hated the most about the Frenchman, how he wasn't ashamed to be so emotional, his near incapability to feel detached.

The silence was long, but Arthur could feel the grip loosen. And Francis sighed defeated.

"I'll help Mrs. Williams prepare something to eat," and then he hesitated. "…Merci, Arthur. I-You are right…I was at my breaking point."

Arthur watched him and hated the fact that Francis looked so pitiful, he hated the fact that Francis would let his guard down so much in front of him…But mostly he just hated the fact that Arthur was happy that Francis would in front of him.

He placed his hand on Francis' shoulder. "Everything will be fine, I'll protect Matthew. Try…not to worry so much."

"…that's what I'm worried about Arthur, you…You would protect any one of us to your last breath. And that woman Natalya she…" Francis shook his head. "Never mind my worries, how is Peter?"

Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat and then started walking down the hallway. "He…isn't doing too well. But Peter is…is trying. Father is over wrought with guilt about the whole affair. I've had to take charge of Miria's will for him."

Francis looked concerned. "How are you finding the time for this Arthur? Are you sleeping properly?"

"You're not my mother, Francis, no matter how much you try to baby me. Ah-Mrs. Williams. Do you think you and Francis can take care of a meal for our guests? Also, a room for the ladies to take rest." Arthur ignored the hurt look that crossed Francis' face, he knew it wasn't fair to accuse him of such things when he was merely being concerned.

Mrs. Williams nodded, she didn't look like she could speak. And judging by the wrinkles on the hem of her dress she hasn't done anything but worry since Stephan escorted her out.

Francis headed towards the kitchen, Mrs. Williams and he didn't even make eye contact, she looked so frail. But Francis couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, in the kitchen he would feel at ease. Cooking to him was a soothing task, where his hands and mind were busy and it left little room for distractions. All thoughts of monsters and winter were left behind in the other room-trapped with Matthew.

Arthur was now alone in the sitting room, with a shuddering breath he sat on Mrs. Williams chair, he pulled out his pipe thinking that maybe a smoke would make his hands stop shaking, but as he reached for it he felt his eyes grow heavy and despite all the built up anxiety of the last weeks, Arthur fell asleep.

Matthew on the other hand, wondered if he would ever sleep peacefully again. But the thought was brief as he was still entrance by the Russian woman. For a reason or another, he hadn't let go of her hand. But she didn't seem to mind, in fact she looked at ease.

They gave each other awkward smiles when their eyes would meet, after all they were holding hands with a person they had just met and couldn't even speak the same language.

It was also strange because whenever he would sneak a glance at her face he could see the family resemblance, he wondered if fate had been kinder to Ivan would he look as kind as Katyusha? Would his hands be as warm?

It was so easy to ignore his cousin and her two companion arguing, her eyes seemed to change colours as he looked at them. Matthew was willing to say that this woman before him was by far the most beautiful he had ever seen.

Of course his mother comes into the room just as he finished that thought. Blushing he quickly let go of Katyusha's hand and then gave his mother a reassuring smile.

"Arthur asked me to escort the young ladies to a room, does the gentlemen also need a room?"

"I'm fine, just point me to the nearest chair or free floor patch."

Mrs Williams laughed, and shook her head. "No, I insist, please come, there's a spare bed in Alfred's room."

At this Matthew's cousin snorted indignantly. "What!? No way am I sharing room with this guy!" Alfred glanced at Natalya who was now standing watch by the window, he mentally laughed at her, if she thought by just turning her back to him would make him stop bothering her, she had another thing coming. He took her hand and suggested instead. "Natalya can stay in my room!"

Now Natalya had no idea what Alfred said but judging by the look of horror on both Gilbert's and Mrs. Williams face, she decided it was definitely not good. Yanking her hand free, she glared with full force at the American. Some people needed to be taught a lesso-

"Ow Ow Ow!"

Mrs. Williams was pinching Alfred ear and smiling apologetically at Gilbert and Natalya. "I'm so sorry, my nephew is an oaf that needs to learn some manners." Quietly she added to Alfred. "Wait till your mother reads about this, she'll have your father beat some tact in you."

Gilbert shook with contained laughter and he couldn't help but notice how Natalya's lips quivered very closely into a smile. It took all of his strength not to burst right then and there.

And then she promptly let him go and escorted the guests out, "Please this way, you'll need your rest, and I'll call you all down for some lunch once it's prepared."

The door shut and then it was only Matthew and Alfred alone in the room. The American shifted uncomfortably where he stood, _Matthew is definitely going to give me an earful_.

But laughter came instead, Matthew began laughing so hard that his sides hurt and tears squeezed out of his eyes. He even knee-slapped himself.

Alfred grinned and jumped on hi cousin's bed.

"I'm funny right!? But seriously, man, why do I get the weird albino!? Natalya is totally beautiful. She and I would make the best pair don't you think? You don't think she and Gilbert are together do you?"

Matthew just kept laughing shaking his head in disbelief. He had forgotten this feeling, it felt so long since he last laughed like this. "Alfred- you-"

"Me? Why I am super handsome and charming and amazing! You would think this to be impossible but in fact it is! God bless America!"

Still laughing uncontrollably Matthew shook his head and mouthed the word 'What!?'. Alfred just sat on the bed grinning at Matthew. He was happy that his cousin hadn't forgotten how to smile.

"Alfred you…Honestly what goes through that head of yours?…"

"Nothing really, …other than making you happy."

Matthew was taken back. The sincere look on his cousin's face was a bit surprising, but he managed to smile back.

"Thank you Al, I'm glad you're here."

Alfred grinned and pulled Matthew in for a headlock. "No worries Mattie! That Russian bastard won't know what hit him!"

Matthew wiggled in the headlock, but was too weak to really do anything about it, he thought it was strange how Alfred hadn't let go of him yet, and how his cousin seemed bent on keeping him there in the awkward hug, but Matthew didn't mind, he could hear Alfred's heartbeat and it soothed him.

His vision started to un-focus, the heart's rhythm was lulling him to sleep…

_I wonder…Does Ivan Braginsky's heart still beat? I…hope…it does…_

In Alfred's warm arms Matthew fell into a dreamless sleep.

The moment Mrs. Williams left Natalya and Katyusha alone in the room, Katyusha burst into tears.

Natalya was half expecting and dreading it. She was terrible at comforting people, even people she cared about. It has always felt awkward and forced…She wondered how Katyusha could do it all the time.

She wrapped her arms around the woman she felt for as a sister, and led her to bed. She didn't say anything but she could hear Katyusha mumble words, most notably;

"He's" _hiccup_ "such a nice boy, Ivan" _sob_ "would have loved being his friend" _sniff._

Natalya has made it a point not to care about Ivan. She disregards the fact that he used to be human, much less related to the nicest person in the world. But Natalya felt uncomfortable, because she too felt that the boy was 'nice' Toris would have probably liked him as well.

_Toris would have probably liked that obnoxious American, as well._

She cut her thoughts short, the boy, Matthew….he reminded her of Toris.

Katyusha jumped at the sound of a knife making contact into the door. She looked over at Natalya and was surprised at how angry she looked.

"Na-Natalya?"

"The bastard- he – he !"

_He tried to kill me._

_But he killed my Toris instead._

And now, a boy like Toris was going to suffer again.

She clenched her teeth and then pulled the knife out of the wood. Opening the door, she paused her words quiet but clear like a warning bell in the middle of a dark night.

"I won't let him."

She slammed the door behind her, leaving the poor woman left in the room to cry alone and only further proving Natalya's point on how terrible she is at comforting people.

5 years earlier

Russia

It was the talk of the town.

The blood that flowed through the river that surrounded the Trovosky, estate seemed to haunt everyone's lips and those unlucky enough to find the body…It haunted their every thoughts.

'They say old Madame Timosheva will never be the same again…'

'Poor old bat, she wasn't in her right minds of late to begin with.'

'Can you imagine finding a body without a head?'

'Wait until someone finds the head.'

The body was quickly identified by a heart-broken father, it didn't help that he placed a reward on whoever could find his daughter's head. The whole city felt cold with remorse and pity, they hoped the head was returned, just so the victim could be buried in one piece.

Everyone spoke about the victim, her family and poor Madame Timosheva, but no one, no one dared utter a word about who or what murdered the girl.

The fear gripped them all like the cold winter air, that seemed to chase them into their homes, and not even the warmest fires could keep at bay.

But one girl wasn't afraid of the murderer, no, she was furious.

People die all the time, she reasoned to herself, but now she was restricted to the inside of her home. Her parents like most of the city dwellers, would not let their daughter's stray far from their sights.

"How dare he use my stream to kill that girl."

"Natalya, sympathy remember? You promised me you would work on it."

The fifteen year-old girl blushed and lowered her head in shame. "…I'm sorry, Toris. I'm just upset because you were going to teach me how to ride today…"

Toris patted the empty spot next to him on the couch while smiling gently, the way he always did when she apologized, as if he was proud of the accomplishment. It made Natalya want to punch him in the stomach.

"Natalya, we have the rest of our lives to learn a great many things that poor girl doesn't."

"That's not my fault."

"Of course it isn't."

**Natalya aches at the thought that yes it was her fault that the poor girl died, the victim was her substitute after all. Just like Toris.**

She sat down next to him, and without hesitation she leaned her head on his shoulder. For a long moment, she did what Toris always asked her to do, to calmly consider the situation from a different perspective. The girl's perspective Natalya had difficulty connecting with because…she's dead. No big deal, everyone dies sooner or later. Instead, she thought herself to be the girl's friend. Imagined that she knew her all her life long, they played together, fought and laughed together…

A tear fell from her eye.

"Natalya?" Toris asked with deep concern, looking into his eyes she could see understand and warmth.

And everything she loved.

It was kind of like the eyes of a dog. And Natalya hated the feeling of thinking something sad while looking into those eyes; it just seemed to magically amplify.

"It's…a sad feeling. I'm sad for the people who lost her." _I'm sad at the thought of losing you._

Toris smiled and nodded, he gently stroke her head. "Do you remember when you fell into the river?"

She nodded, her eyes seemed to smile as if she could ever forget.

"It's strange I remember it fondly," Toris began; he seemed entranced as his fingers laced the silver hair. "I was chasing you as I always did back then, and you always ran and only when you got tired would you stop running and just push me down. You were so cute. But when you fell, your face which was normally so composed and graceful was replaced with fear, I remembered then that you couldn't swim. And in the dress you wore you had no hope of floating. So I kicked off my shoes and followed after you, once I reached you and tried to keep you afloat only then did I realise I couldn't swim either. But I tried; I never forced myself as hard as I did that day, trying to save you. I prayed with every kick, 'save her, if one of us has to die today don't let it be her'. I was more afraid of losing you than I ever was of dying. That was around the time your nanny came in yelling and screaming, getting us both out of the water…

You didn't let go of me, the whole time, you held my hand as if I was the one who saved you."

Natalya shifted in her seat so that her back was to Toris. She couldn't say the words; instead her face blushed at the memory of her much younger self holding onto Toris like a hopeless child. The ice princess reasoned with herself, it was because his hands were so warm and the water's cold had shocked her so much that she couldn't bear to part with the heat.

Of course, her heart knew that she couldn't let go of him out of fear he would do something heroic again and get himself killed.

Because Natalya Trovosky was praying for the same blessing.

'_No Toris! Don't die because of me!'_

She wondered if Toris' God had a sense of humour, having them almost die was the only way for Natalya to ever realise how much she loved her stupid, kind and brave Toris.

**Obviously his God was cruel because he took him away before she ever had the courage to tell him so. **

Still with her back to him, she pulled her legs onto the couch and wrapped her arms around her knees, her face felt warm but she managed to utter out her request so that the man behind her would without doubt comply. "Toris…hold me."

And Toris held her and the warm feelings seemed out of place for an ice princess.

Ivan wrote the words with red ink. He thought it was suitable, considering its content. It was unlike him to be so flashy in his games but really, who could blame him?

After all, he needed to draw a princess out of castle. What better way than having her loving loyal subjects turn against her?

The news had to be hidden from poor old Madame Timosheva, her health was already so frail that her husband hid her away in her room glaring at any old gossip thinking of sharing the latest act of horror.

And it wasn't another murder.

It was a threat addressed to the people of the city -and a personal invitation to the ice princess herself. 

_"My comrades,_

_The beautiful lady in the river was of my doing, I hoped you enjoyed the preview of what is to come. I am pleased to inform you that she won't be the last. Please give me the beautiful ice princess and I shall leave you and your children in peace. Her blood in exchange for your lives, is a little cost, yes?_

_Merry Christmas my beautiful Natalya"_

No question about it. Mr. Timosheva decided, none of this for his Missus, not over his dead body -decapitated or otherwise.

Natalya watched the snow fall from her window, she loved when a snowflake would stick to her window and she could see its intricate and elegant design freeze ontop like a lacy tattoo. Her grandmother once told her that snow is just air wanting to learn how to dance.

And judging by the slow steady rhythm of today's fall, Natalya would suspect they were dancing to a lover's ballad. She did not just think of dancing with Toris, no, she was thinking of…something smart, like…food.

The young woman stepped away from her window, true she may not be able to go out riding in the snow or walk by her river that hasn't frozen over yet, she had every right to go raid the kitchen whenever she felt like it.

'_Mother said I was too thin anyways, something about grandchildren and hips._' Needless to say, Natalya doesn't care much for her mother's many frequent rants and criticism.

She was about to walk right in the kitchen as she normally did, but something stopped her steady steps. The cooks said her name in hushed tones.

The ice princess prided herself on her good ears, and she had no qualms about waiting a moment outside the door, something in her gut was telling her to wait.

"We can't let Lady Natalya see it! It'll frighten the poor girl."

"Frighten her? The ice princess."

"You show some respect now, she's our lord's eldest daughter, one day you'll be serving her exclusively-"

"Not if the murderer gets his hands on her- oh! Lady Natalya, how good of you to visit-"

The cook swallowed his voice at the sight of the cold glare he received from the girl. It seemed ridiculous that such a small skinny girl could instill fear into him but Natalya eyes were like steel and they would sooner cut you than look at you.

"Lady Natalya," the concerned cook spoke kindly, he smiled in welcome at his employer. "What can I get you today?"

"What were you two talking about?" She continued to glare at the rude cook. "You wish for this murderer to kill me?"

Under her cold stare, he started to sweat. "That's not the case at all. It's because of the letter that-"

"My lady please, what would you like to eat, I have some wonderful rosé-"

"What letter?"

" –I can put the rosé on a Italian pasta-"

"The one the murderer sent to the publishing company."

"-with some spinach it would be delightful!"

She turned her glare to the one who was speaking to whole time. "Be quiet."

Natalya felt no remorse while the cook flinched painfully at her tone. For a long moment both of the cooks couldn't meet her eyes and Natalya watched them carefully, she could see the sweat collecting on their brow. Oh, how they didn't want to tell her, even the one who had. He looked as if he regretted ever bringing up the subject.

"Now, before I lose my temper. Tell me about the letter."

The cooks did better than that, they gave her a copy of the letter, and the girl sat in her room with it. Every servant in the household wondered what their ice princess could be thinking. Was she afraid? Or was she above fear?

Did she cry when she saw her name on the paper?

Or did they freeze before they even had a chance to fall?

Even Natalya's mother didn't have the heart to go into her only child's room. What could she say to a girl who seemed so immune to everything? Instead she did the only thing she could do.

She called for Toris.

It was just after sunset when Ivan set out on his little outing. He was humming happily to himself as he carried a bouquet of white roses, he brought especially to the occasion. Knocking on the door of the Travosky estate a maid carefully opened the door.

"C-Can I help you sir?"

"I brought flowers for the young heiress, would you deliver them for me please?"

The maid opened the door all of her caution seemed to have gone. She smiled as her eyes dazed. "Of course sir. Would you like to come in and give them yourself?"

Ivan smiled and shook his head. "How nice of you to offer, but I'm afraid I have an appointment with the blacksmith's son. I wouldn't want to keep the young lad waiting."

"Oh that's George, how I _do_ fancy him." The maid blushed, not out of embarrassment for being so forward, but out of the sheer thought of the blacksmith's son. Nothing seemed out of sorts, not even when Ivan smile widened and he replied cheerily.

"What a coincidence! So do I."

The maid waved goodbye as the nice gentlemen left the front door whistling. It wasn't until she opened Natalya's door and gave her the flowers with Toris in the room did she realize how strange she behaved. And it wasn't until Toris slapped the bouquet out of the maid's hand did she realise her grave mistake. Toris ran to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse, but the world looked quiet and undisturbed. Now more than ever, Toris knew that things weren't as they seemed.

"What did he look like?!"

Toris wasn't one to get violent or angry, and much to Natalya's surprise, he shook the maid and even his tone was raised. Even she could notice the hint of panic in his voice.

"I-I don't remember? But how I just- saw him- he was, I he was Russian definitely, I think…Oh no George! We spoke about George!"

Toris apologized as she burst out into tears. She could hardly speak over the sounds of her sobs. But after a moment, Toris found out that George was the blacksmith's son. He rushed down the stairs and gathered the guards. Natalya was on his heels.

"I'm coming with you-"

"No, Natalya you must stay here, it's you he's after and I won't risk it."

He kissed her forehead and rode off. Natalya stood in her doorway with her parents close behind her, they stood there for a long moment before her father gently steered her away to the sitting room, where she sat by the window and waited for her loved one's safe return.

Ivan watched from the shadows as the boy Toris laid a blanket on top of George's body. The brunette looked stern as he ordered the men to find the head. It shouldn't take them long. After all they arrived so quickly that Ivan didn't even get to finish eating. Oh well, best save the appetite for the main course.

But judging by the look in Toris' eye, Ivan could clearly see that there were still a few more appetizers to go…

* * *

A/N So yeah, writer's block. It was serious. And I am sorry this chapter is so bad (and short). I'm still trying to get back into the swing of things. . .

And it's official I am too lazy to go back and revise my own grammar. Oops.

Holla if you're still reading this. C;


	13. Act 13: Interlude

Bullets with Butterfly Wings

Act 13 - Interlude

A thought crossed her mind as Natalia Arvoslky stepped outside.

She would draw out Ivan, even if she had to tie Matthew Williams to an end of a fishing rope.

Natalya wasn't particularly fond of the London air, but she was suffocating inside that house. Between her own memories and Katyusha's tears, the Russian girl needed to get out. No one paid attention to her as she quietly escaped, and thankfully Katyusha knew better than to go after her. The daylight hurt her eyes…

Five years ago Natalya was a lady of class and high social standards, now she wears a weary traveler's gown, eyes sunken in with exhaustion and desperation.

Ever since Toris' death she's felt a thirst, one that still hasn't been quenched.

She looked at the city around her.

Is this the city that will finally give her what she wants? What she needs?

The neighbourhood was eerily quiet in response.

Francis and Mrs. Williams both looked dejected at the fact that they were done cooking. Francis has already suggested they make desserts and now that was done too. Mrs. Williams quietly excused herself to go see her husband. Francis was jealous. It was at times like these he wished he had a partner to turn to…

He thought of Arthur.

The Arthur who has already rejected all of Francis' advances.

And then he thought about how that didn't change a thing when it came to his own personal feelings.

The Frenchman sat at the clean kitchen table. He didn't want to think about Arthur, or Matthew or the strangers or the monster…

But he had to distract himself.

So he thought about his mother. Beautiful, beautiful Jeanne-Marie Bonnefoy. If she was here she could soothe away all the pains, she could even fend of evils with a witty smile and a reassuring glance.

Francis hated how weak he was. He shamed his mother with his weakness. Jeanne was a woman of great character and strength, even Arthur was scared of her, and Arthur wasn't afraid of anything- much less openly scared of anyone. She would still be in Matthew's room (because she would have instantly cared for the boy, just as Francis' did,) and her presence would be a pillar of strength for everyone. Even those two women from the east, with dark rings under their eyes would be relieved by Jeanne's presence.

But no, instead they get her cowardly son -the one who can't keep it together, Francis, the boy who can do nothing but cry and hide.

"Do I smell food?"

For a moment, Francis thought it was Alfred raiding the kitchen, but he looked up to find the strange albino.

"Yes, but Mrs. Williams needs a moment of repose before we can begin diner."

The albino looked the Frenchman up and down, "…I don't think she's alone on that boat."

Francis didn't bother defending himself. Instead he got up and grabbed two wine glasses. "Would you care for a drink? Mrs. Williams houses some fine wine."

Gilbert gave the Frenchman a crooked smile, "Is there any beer? Just came from France, I am a bit all wine-out."

Francis ran about the kitchen enough times now to know that –yes there was some beer. So he gave some to German and poured himself a generous bit of wine. "So you are originally from Germany, oui? What did you do there?"

"I was a student. My parents were wealthy so, I had a lot of free time."

"And you studied languages?"

Gilbert nodded, "My father's idea, thought it would be good for business, but of course I took it to the extreme. The only business partners my father could have gotten were French, Russian or Polish…He certainly didn't expect my learning Cantonese."

"Which languages don't you speak?"

"Lots. Greek, Turkish, Serbian… There are as many languages as there are countries, I don't think one person could possibly learn them all," he chuckled. "But that didn't stop me from trying."

Francis hummed as he took longer sips. Gilbert watched the Frenchman drink, he was a bit surprised really, at this man's presence in the whole situation. Gilbert's circumstance was out of the ordinary, but a Frenchman willingly living in London? What was this man's story?

Despite the weary look on the Frenchman's face, Francis decided to stop avoiding the subject anymore.

"Natalya…She…I mean is she-"

"Available? Sort of. But trust me you don't want to go down that path man, and Kat is off limits, alright-"

"Non, non, non! Please, I wasn't going to ask such a thing." The Frenchman actually looked distressed. "Non, I wanted to ask you something, and I beg your pardon if I offend. But she's…for lack of a better word, bloodthirsty -isn't she?"

Gilbert stared at the blonde, and Francis knew he was being seized, he held his breath. Gilbert leaned back in his chair, "…So you could tell? Yeah, she wants Braginski dead- well, deader than he is right now that is. But what of it?" The albino raised a white brow and Francis knew he had to choose his words carefully.

"I…I'm concerned, I understand that we probably have different interests but, I must ask that your party does not use Matthew as bait."

"You know that it can't be helped, right?"

Francis shook his head. "No, it can be. I had a feeling Natalya wanted to use Matthew as bait but now I am certain. But I know a way to draw out Braginski,_ …without_ using Mathieu."

Gilbert shifted in his seat, he didn't like where this was going but nodded reluctantly. "How then?"

"Me. I can be the bait."

Matthew was rather surprised to see his cousin sleeping next to him. The Canadian glanced at the window, it was still daylight, but the days were short and the sun was low in the sky.

Surprisingly, Matthew wasn't afraid.

A part of him wanted the night to come, the waiting is unbearable.

And he was tired of just sitting around. He sat up straight, and noticed that he felt much better than he did this morning. He set his feet firmly on the ground, testing the weight and careful to gauge his health. He stood up slowly but was happy to see that he didn't fall over, nor did he felt too dizzy.

He set out of his room, relieved that he wasn't locked or guarded in. Matthew half-expected Arthur to be around a corner, ready to tackle the Canadian back into bed. Not certain on where he was going, he paused in the hallway, and then heard muffled sniffles.

'_Katyusha…She must be exhausted._'

But he didn't want to leave her alone,… he chided himself. '_She's not alone Natalya is there with her._'

Even his own reasoning didn't stop him from checking to be sure. He quietly knocked on the door, loud enough that she should hear, but quiet enough that the woman could ignore it if she wished to.

But Katyusha did open the door. As the room was small and he was considerably taller than her, he could see that she was indeed alone. And it took him a moment to realize that Katyusha was speaking to him in Russian, the concern in her voice evident. He knew she was scolding him for being out of bed.

He smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine, please. Don't stress yourself…"

'_You idiot, you don't speak Russian, how is she going to understand you?'_

Matthew pointed inside the room. "May I sit here?"

Obviously she quickly understood as she got out of his way. Matthew murmmed a thank you and sat on the bed.

"M-Mattvew?"

He looked up at her as she spoke his name. Again he was struck by her beauty. Blushing a little, he looked at his toes and then smiled.

"Katyusha do you want to learn English?"

She tilted her head in response. Her short hair fell over her brows and her eyes lit up with a curious glow. Matthew looked around for anything in arms reach. There was books in the library shelf. Grabbing one he held it out in front of him towards her. "Book."

A spark of understanding shone in Katyusha's grey eyes. "книга." She took it. Opening it she flipped a few pages and then held one and flipped it back and forth. "страница."

"Page. Or…" Taking back the book, he pressed his thumb on the book and watched all the pages move beneath his fingers. "Pages."

She repeated the words and smiled.

They did this for a while, exchanging words back and forth. Matthew could tell that Katyusha was trying very hard to retain the information, every now and then she would name all the words and point to the object it represented. Matthew tried to do the same but ended up just laughing because he could hear how bad his own accent was and honestly… He was having too much fun to really concentrate. It was the way she moved about the room, the way she would smile and how her hair would bounce with every word, it was difficult for Matthew to focus on her words. But Katyusha didn't seem to mind, she was enjoying herself.

"рука."

Matthew looked at her empty hands and furrowed his eyebrows. "Nothing?"

Katyusha smiled at the confusion on his face, letting out a small laugh she moved closer and took his hand into her own. "рука"

Matthew stared at their hands. Her hands weren't soft, instead they were strong and worn with age. But they were small and to Matthew they felt frailer than his own, Katyusha's hands needed rest. He took her hand and lifted them to his lips.

"Hand."

Their eyes locked and for a moment, both of them held their breath.

"Matthew?! Matthew! Where are you!?"

Matthew jumped to his feet and nearly pushed Katyusha over. Holding her in place while steadying himself he blushed and then replied. "I'm here! I'm here, Alfred!"

Whispering a sorry as he passed her, he pulled open the door and limped his was out of Katyusha's room.

Katyusha didn't watch him for more than a second before she closed the door behind him. She moved away from the door and then sat on her bed. She stared at the wall in front of her as she placed a hand over her heart.

The beating in her chest was deafening.

"Alright, it could work, I guess."

"It will work, as long as you don't tell Matthew. I fear the dear boy would object to anyone trying to act as bait."

"Ja, Ja, I get it. Don't tell the kid. What about that English dude would he object?"

Francis shook his head, why would Arthur object? If it means protecting Matthew he would do anything, and it's not like Arthur cared for Francis more than Matthew. He hid the sadness behind a smile.

"So what if there is one less frog in the world, hmm?"

Gilbert gave the Frenchman a doubting look but then shrugged. "Whatever you say."

A moment later, Mrs. Williams entered the room and told the two that it was time for supper, it was going to be an early on, as she wanted a proper one while the sun was still high up in the sky. Gilbert excused himself as he went to get the girls. Francis helped set the table.

Arthur woke up to soft cling of dishware from the next room. He didn't rush himself; instead he stared out into the front yard. From the window he could see all the roads and alleys. Even in daylight there were shadows dark enough to hide in. It unsettled him.

He turned away from the window, instead looked to the dining room, through the doorway he could see Francis chatting, with who Arthur could only assume, with Mrs. Williams.

The frog still looked tired... Arthur noted to himself to scold the Frenchman some more later.

In mid thought, he heard hushed voices coming from the hall in a language that was becoming more familiar. Arthur stood up to investigate to find Gilbert and Katyusha at the bottom of the stairs. The conversation ended with Gilbert sighing loudly.

"Oh, Artie right? Sorry, did we wake you? The other girl -Natalya- left without telling me. I'll go take a look around, you should get to the kitchen, supper's ready."

"It isn't Artie. It is Arthur or Kirkland. Anyways, I'll go look for her, I'm more familiar with the area. And I'm certain the Lady Katyusha would be more comfortable with you at the table with her."

Before the Prussian could object, Arthur grabbed his coat and went out into the familiar air of London. 'If I was a Russian girl, bent on vengeance, which way would I wonder?' Sadly he wasn't creative enough to come up with any sound guesses, so he followed his guts. Figuring that she could easily find her way back to the Williams home, Arthur thought it would be best to take a side trip back to his home. He needed to check in on his younger brother.

It wasn't long before he found a cab, ontop of that, one he recognised. "Goin' home, gov'rnor'?"

"Yes, and if you could, make it quick, please."

He hopped in, and to his pleasure they took off at swift pace. Another wave of fatigue hit him, before Matthew arrived and all this insanity began, Arthur was already working long hours. He was tired and was hoping to take time off to spend it with his childhood friend and to go their country homes and enjoy some fresh England air. Maybe go riding; it feels like it has been forever since Arthur last saw Bessie, his horse. Matthew loved ridding too, even though the Canadian felt awkward on horses. Arthur chuckled at some early memories.

'_Arthur! Wait for me!'_

'_King Arthur waits for no one! If you want to be a knight at my table, you'll have to keep up Sir Matthew!'_

The cab pulled up in front of a familiar loft. After paying the cabby, he pulled out his keys and opened his front door.

"Father? Peter? I'm home."

He heard Peter before he saw him. The sound of feet jumping onto the floor and running down the stairs to meet him. "Arthur!"

The boy jumped in his arms and hugged him tightly. While normally Arthur would scold such open affection, he couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, and pat Peter's head gently. "Were you a good boy for mother? Have you done as I've asked?"

Peter only nodded into Arthur's waist, after a moment he looked up. "Is Matthew okay?"

"Yes, he is much better now. There is no need for you to worry. Is Father in his study?"

At this Peter's arms tightened. "Father…doesn't give me lessons anymore Arthur. But yes, he's in there."

"Good boy, now, I'll give you a headstart because little boys always need one…Go pack your things, you're going to visit Allistor okay?"

An expression the boy had all but forgotten he could do, bloomed on his face. "Really!?" He smiled. While Arthur didn't get along with his older brothers, Peter got along with _all_ of them.

"Of course, would I lie to you?"

The smile didn't disappear, "Never!"

With that, Peter rushed back up the stairs. Arthur watched him go. He put his coat away and then went down the hallway, heading to his father's study. He knocked on the door.

"Father? I'm coming in."

The study was in a disarray, there's no way Peter could have lessons in here. Stacks of paper piled high and fell around the floor. Books tossed around the room carelessly… If Arthur hadn't known the cause for such disarray he would have been worried over how out of character this room was.

Arthur picked up one of the books, he heart turned in his chest.

'A Midsummer's Night Dream' by William Shakespeare.

It was one of Arthur's favourite, a magical comedy about fairies, what's not to love? He was always enchanted by fairy tales and ghost stories. Mysteries that could never be explained by man, and those few who would dare cross path or fall upon the world of the paranormal, would either be blessed…

Or cursed.

Eyes red with a dangerous glow. Fanglike teeth stained with blood.

There was nothing enchanting about the monster that had appeared before them. Arthur remembered how, he didn't pause how he pushed Braginski away from Alfred with his cane, how he chased after him in the alley…

" _-__I'll show you why I have no fear."_

Could he still boast this? Now that he knows the truth, that it truly is a monster, a fable they must face.

A nightmare.

"Arthur?"

The young man jumped in his skin, and he felt ashamed for having flinched. "Pardon, father. I was…lost in thoughts. Just as I was coming in to speak with you…"

He hated how childish he was.

"There's no need, Arthur. Obviously I am in no better state."

_I should have been here._

"Your mother has been so good to me... too good, actually. She's indulging a scared old man."

_She needed me here, Peter needed me here._

"So what is it Arthur? How is Matthew? Good, I hope."

_No thanks to me. I should have been paying more attention._

"Arthur?"

_I can't save anyone-_

"Arthur."

_Miria-_

"Arthur."

He jolted at the sudden weight on his shoulder and looked up with wide eyes. His father looked old, but it was Arthur who felt frail.

"My son, you have done so well. I am so proud of you. But I think, we are starting to become too heavy of a burden to worry about while you face this obstacle, I shall bring your mother and Peter with me north."

It was as if his English blood started rushing in his veins, his father was gracious enough to help Arthur save face. This was exactly what the young man needed. Not to be consoled, or lectured, but to be reminded of his own motto. Keep calm and carry on. This was Arthur's way of dealing with challenges placed on his path.

Nothing could stop him or phase. The reason why he had no fear in the alley wasn't because it was waiting to catch up on him later. It was because, he wasn't afraid of the monster called Ivan Braginski.

And the next time they would meet, Arthur won't hold back. He will protect what needs protecting and carry on with his life.

And perhaps after all this is over, he would face his true fears.

"Thank you Father. I was just on my way to suggest the same. But I was wondering… Could you perhaps take Francis with you?"

Chapter END

I'm pretty certain this chapter wasn't worth all the waiting. Oops. But it's summer time for me, so I'll try and work on this some more! I had a huge writer's block at the beginning of this chapter but over the months I would try to just work through it, by the end it got easier again. Woohoo~

I AM NOT GIVING UP ON THIS STORY, SO STICK WITH ME GUYS. LOVE YA'LL! 3


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